


Fly With me

by qosm



Category: DCU (Comics), Green Lantern - All Media Types, The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, M/M, Medieval Crime Scene Investigation, Multi, No Transphobia, Trans Characters, discussions of polyamory, mentions of dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qosm/pseuds/qosm
Summary: “I’ve never… Flown before,” Barry said, because it was true. As far as he had learned, the sky was the realm of birds and bats and dragons and the men that rode them.“You’ve never flown with me before,” Hal said, like it was a reassurance.





	Fly With me

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the monster I've been working on for a few months now. Large chunks of lore are inspired by Anne Mccaffrey's Dragonriders of Pern series, so credit to that where relevant. Please don't sue me.
> 
> I have to thank the DCU Bang Discord in particular for supporting me through the multiple mental breakdowns I had writing this behemoth, and a massive thanks to Bito and Awolreel for beta-ing, along with Kess for supporting me through the entire process! Behind the scenes fun fact: There was originally going to be another, like, half of the story that would have added another 30k words but y'all are going to have to wait for the eventual sequel for that :3c
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to shokuheshi on tumblr for their incredible art! Go check them out for more!

Barry woke to a murder.

The captain of the watch had banged on his door just after sunrise, a full two hours before he was expected at the lodge, and demanded his attention immediately.

Not that Barry was unhappy to see Captain Frye, more that he had been hoping to go visit Patty that morning before work. He was in the middle of belting his tunic when he opened the door and found the captain waiting for him expectantly, giving him a critical once-over.

“Something came up, we need you on the scene,” Frye said briskly, and Barry tried not to smile. He liked that gruffness the older man carried, and it reminded him of his teenage years while fostered with the man, after… After Nora.

He startled when Frye snapped his fingers to get his attention. The captain had been speaking while he’d been distracted.

“Allen? You listening to me? We’ve got a triple homicide right outside the town, Singh’s already on-site and he doesn’t know what to make of it. We need you there, and no being late this time!”

And just like that, Captain Frye saluted and stalked off, leaving Barry blinking blearily in the dawning sunshine.

It wasn’t often that there were crimes to this degree in the bustling farming town and trading post of Stonebridge, but the last few years of population growth meant there were growing pains to be expected. Usually Barry hoped those wouldn’t include murders, but that would put him out of the job.

Funny that, the son of farmers ending up serving the watch in investigation, ending up elbow-deep in corpses more often than not. If Frye was getting Barry up this early, it meant the murders had to have happened overnight, which meant they would be already cold. Great. He loved the feeling of cold organs.

Barry yawned and stepped back inside his cottage, clustered with others towards the outskirts of the township. It was cozy and habitable, but it still felt… Empty, to some degree. Slipping on his leather boots and pulling on a jacket, the one with the little shield emblem sewn to the breast to show he was working with the watch.

Not bothering to lock the door behind him -- what was there to steal, besides his linen and clothing, really? -- Barry bustled out into the cobbled street not ten minutes after Frye had come to gather him. He turned and squinted, shading his eyes to get a look at the clock face that dominated the chapel. He still had a little while before he was expected but he didn’t want to push it, and the serpents wrapped around the masonry made the hair on the backs of his arms stand on end.

He hurried down the street towards the bakery, and peeked through the open-shutter window to see if there was anything available for breakfast. Inside the baker and his apprentices were busy and the smell made his stomach rumble, but it appeared they were just taking the day’s bread out of the ovens and had yet to get started on the sweets. The baker caught Barry’s eye and smiled knowingly, mouthing ‘_after_’ to him.

Barry felt himself flush and nod, grinning as he turned and went back on his way, heading around to the main road that lead in and out of town, already bustling with merchants bringing in fresh wares and the nightsoilmen taking out carts that were discreetly covered, but offered no protection against the stench.

Wrinkling his nose, he stopped in at the guardpost at the border of town and found Jay waiting for him, traditional watchman helmet tipped over his eyes. The older man -- in his fifties, at least -- appeared to be having a nap.

“You got the night shift?” Barry asked with a fond smile as Jay startled awake, gripping his helm to make sure it didn’t fall off. The early morning light glinted off the little metal wings bolted onto the sides.

“Hey now, Singh’s looking for you Barry. Wouldn’t want to be late.” Jay gave him a lopsided grin, and fished his pipe out of his breastplate, grabbing a pack of matches sitting on the table nearby and lighting up with a puff of smoke. At least it drowned out the smell of night soil.

Barry rubbed his nose, trying not to sneeze. “Frye only told me the job was just outside of town. Do you…?”

Jay scratched at some early morning scruff that clung to his chin and moved the pipe to one side of his mouth so he could speak. “Ah, right. You know the Millers? The neighbour heard the dogs going wild and went to investigate early this morning. What he found was…” Jay make a nondescript noise. “He went to th’ Watch, o’course. An’ then they went to you.”

The Millers? That was one of the oldest families of Stonebridge, named for the great mill that churned the nearby river and provided the town with a great deal of its flour. And a homicide… Barry swallowed and tried to think ahead, if there were any reports of issues with the Millers or business disputes or…

“Y’better run along, Barr. Those bodies aren’t getting any warmer.” Jay said warmly, nodding towards where the road lead out of town, towards the surrounding farmlands. Barry smiled at the nickname and sighed an implied agreement, but before he left…

Quick as a whip, he reached over and nimbly grabbed Jay’s pipe between his fingers. “These are bad for you, you know,” Barry teased with a laugh, darting away before the older man could grab at him.

He couldn’t help the laughter that spilled from him as he raced down the road, darting around a cart full of fish that was headed towards the marketplace in town. Stubbing out the pipe once he couldn’t hear Jay’s yelling, Barry made sure he was heading in the right direction: towards the river, and the vast verdant fields beyond. He’d return it later, after he had visited the site.

He passed by an orchard and leaned precariously across a waist-high stone wall to pick a ripe apple, promising himself to come back and pay for it later. After lunch, maybe? He nodded, and added that to his to-do list as he began to down the fruit for breakfast.

The Millers’ house was just down the lane and across a sturdy stone bridge, the one that had given the town its name so long ago. He scuffed the worn surface with his boots, not really wanting to step out of the calm civilian life and into the darker world of a watchman. He steeled himself and crossed over, finishing his apple and discreetly burying it in the dark soil next to the bridge. Maybe a tree would grow there in the future.

Cleaning any leftover sticky residue from his hands by wiping them on his trousers, Barry stepped back onto the path and headed towards the great waterwheel that dominated this side of the river, creaking as it was pushed along by the current. The house itself stood two stories of weathered stone and climbing ivy. He let himself in the rusted metal gates and spotted the rest of the Watch lurking around the front entrance.

Old Max looked up at him as he approached, and crossed his thick arms. For an older man, Max was built like an ox from his past life of soldiering. He was giving Barry a look that was nearly unreadable if it weren’t for the concerned crinkle of his eyes.

“What’s… What’s the situation, Max?” Barry asked, stepping to the side to let a pale-faced constable out into the yard.

“Garrick and Frye didn’t tell you? Triple homicide. Mister and Missus Miller apparently murdered by a business rival, who proceeded to… Well, you’ll see. Nasty business,” he warned with a gruff voice.

Barry cringed internally and gazed out to the rolling fields beyond the low stone wall that ringed the Millers’ yard. There were cottages scattered across the tops of hills, usually ringed by speckles of white: sheep, ready to be shorn.

He didn’t want to be here, truly. Not skulking around a dead house. Sure, he wanted to do good, but didn’t everyone? He had an eye for analysis, Frye had told him before handing over the badge of a reserve watchman, and he could put that to good use, but…

“Thanks, Max. Where’s Singh?”

The corner of Max’s mouth tugged upwards in what was a close approximation for a shrug. “Off interviewing the neighbours.”

“The business rivals?”

“Aye.”

Barry nodded, rubbed his nose. The pollen from the budding spring season was making it itch. He nodded a thanks to Max and turned to head inside, pushing the door open and immediately feeling some switch within him being flicked as he stepped into that other world, of blood and crime and suffering.

By this time the sun had risen and most townspeople would be up and working, but the morning light barely touched the inside of the mill, and the fresh spring air was dominated by the sick smell of blood and encroaching rot.

There were other constables standing aimlessly around the house, and Barry sent them off with a few polite words. Especially Thawne, whose intense, cold gaze made him vaguely uncomfortable. He and the others could wait for Barry’s report to Singh.

When he had the building to himself, Barry sighed and let the tension flow out of his body. He was in his element here, outside of the hustle and bustle of the real world and in a more transient state where life and death met in a moment of frozen time… Or so he told himself sometimes. Mostly it was just dealing with dead bodies, which wasn’t the most popular profession.

The first body was that of Missus Miller, who was slumped against the kitchen bench with her throat cut in a bloody line, the front of her dress stained nearly black. An arterial spray was splattered up and across the bench and window, which cast a garish red light in the morning sun.

Barry stood behind where she had fallen and observed the rest of the kitchen with a strange feeling of detachment.

The ground level of the house was dedicated to the kitchen and dining room, with a separate area for the operation of the mill. He could hear the creak of the waterwheel outside, muffled through the stone walls.

Across from where he stood was Mister Miller, slumped on the hardwood floor in a pool of his own blood.

Blood trailed away from the body, and Barry could see bootprints in it. He managed to keep himself cool, emotionally distant from the situation as he trailed the blood, seeing it lead away from Mister Miller and across, to where a man he distantly recognised as Mister Greentree.

Another miller, but certainly not a business rival to Barry’s knowledge. Mister Greentree and his family had their mill downriver, but mostly worked with maize instead of the Millers’ wheat. Perhaps he wanted to get into the market?

Greentree was slumped against the wall, beneath a rather lovely needlepoint of the words __‘Harth an Homme’__ in Missus Miller’s lovely script. Most of the blood from Mister Greentree’s arterial spray had gone outwards thankfully, and the knife responsible for the gaping gash across his throat lay almost innocently on the floor, near his splayed hand.

With all the puzzle pieces in place, Barry stood back up and put his mind to work. Miss Miller had been the first, and Greentree must have grabbed a knife from its block to cut her throat. She had been discarded, cracking her neck in the process, and Greentree had moved onto Mister Miller.

From there things got less certain.

The chair Mister Miller had been sitting on was toppled, so he probably stood abruptly. Footprints in Miss Miller’s spilled blood led towards him, and then there was more spray, and then Mister Miller’s sprawled body. Greentree had come after him, slashing and driving him back.

After that, Greentree had… Backed away? And then found himself against the wall, and had…

“Barry! Get your skinny arse out here!” Singh’s yell startled him, and he barely avoided slipping in one of the puddles of blood, “Are you deaf? The bells are ringing!”

“What?” Even as he asked, the ringing of the great church bells across the river reached his ears, muffled by the thick stone walls of the mill. A cold dread clutched at Barry’s belly, and he gestured to the crime scene wordlessly. Singh’s shout had taken him right out of the mindtrack he needed to sort out what had happened.

“I don’t care about that right now, you know they only ring the bells for the dragonlords or fire or war and I don’t see the last two happenin’ right now. So get your butt out here and let’s see what the problem is.”

Barry’s eyes lingered on Mister Greentree’s cut throat as he carefully stepped over the blood and headed outside, blinking in the midmorning sun that was now shining down. He turned towards the town and shaded his eyes, able to see the top of the church and its bell tower above the line of trees and houses. There wasn’t any black smoke, so there probably wasn’t a fire, and the realm had been peaceful for a good handful of years so conflict was unlikely.

So that just left the dragonlords.

The thought unsettled him greatly for a reason he wasn’t entirely certain, and his eyes lingered on the blue sky, spotted with clouds. As a child he had dreamt of the dragons, but they rarely ranged this far out into the countryside. Legends swore the dragons were as large as mountainsides, and their riders elven knights that stood ten feet tall and mastered all magics of man and beast… As a child, the thought had been exhilarating and enchanting, but as an adult he felt stirrings of terror at the idea of a beast with teeth as long as a man stood tall.

Barry became aware of Thawne standing next to him, and tasted something unpleasant in the back of his throat.

“I’ve always wanted a dragon,” Eobard said simply, and Barry wanted to roll his eyes, “Don’t you think that would be impressive? Being able to ride and conquer?”

Barry glanced at Eobard, and the hungry look in his dead eyes made him uncomfortable.

“I suppose,” he replied reluctantly, starting to walk towards the bridge into town. Thawne shadowed him, just in his peripheral vision.

“If I had a dragon, things like that back there wouldn’t happen.” That caught Barry’s attention, and he turned to see Eobard staring intently at him.

“How so?” He couldn’t help himself but to give in to the morbid curiousity.

“Dragonriders are supposed to be all-powerful. I wouldn’t be sitting up in my magical mountain for years on end. I would be making sure that you didn’t have to do… All of this.”

The uneasy feeling returned with a vengeance, and Barry found himself looking over the stone railing of the bridge and into the rushing blue waters.

“All of this?”

“What you do. You’re such a good person, Barry. You shouldn’t have to be getting up close and personal with these sorts of crimes. If I had a dragon, you wouldn’t have to. It’d just be you and me, and a dragon.”

Eobard Thawne was a few years younger than Barry, a young man by all accounts, but his ferocity and dedication troubled Barry. He wasn’t sure what to think of Thawne, and the certainty in his voice was unsettling.

He always seemed to be lurking, to be watching with grey eyes and ready to jump in to help Barry when he needed it most with a kind word and steady hands. But…

Barry didn’t respond to the last comment and instead focused on heading towards the town common, a rolling field of green that the townsfolk sometimes pastured their animals on. It was a meeting ground for the townsfolk in general, both for matters of mayoral election and public debates and for private gatherings to celebrate birthdays or weddings or groups of teenagers with homebrewed moonshine.

Now most of the townsfolk had gathered and pressed into the field, a dull roar of voices of men and their women, and their children running between their legs. The bells were echoing, deep and steady in a way that Barry felt in his bones. He saw the baker and his apprentice through the crowd, but he pushed his way through, Thawne at his heels, until he was at the front where the mayor stood.

The mayor was having to try and placate the crowd in their confusion, and Barry spotted Jay and Max moving across the improvised front line to keep people from swarming forward.

“What’s the problem?” someone shouted from behind, and other people echoed the sentiment.

“Now, everyone, please be ca--”

Whatever the mayor had said was drowned out by the crowd screaming, the men yelling and children crying out either in fear or in awe.

Barry barely had time to register that the field had been cast into darkness, because the clap of thunderous wings drowned out the peal of church bells and the shouting of people. Between great leather wings beating at the air the sun shone in bright daggers, making him shade his eyes as he tilted his head back and tried to get a look at these dragonlords, enigmatic and terrifying and yet supposedly the rulers of this little backwood town.

He was aware of the rest of the townsfolk fleeing away from the gales of wind, but the enormous serpentine figures that had seemingly dropped out of the sky drew as much wonder as they did fear.

The ground seemed to shudder beneath their weight, and Barry counted three of the beasts, standing twice as tall as he was at the shoulder, at least, with long sinuous necks that added even more height as they towered over the field.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Barry startled when he heard Eobard’s voice, and turned to see that he hadn’t fled with the rest of the townsfolk -- who were instead crowded many feet back and away from the dragons. Eobard wasn’t looking at the dragons, though, his grey eyes focused instead on Barry. “I told you. I’ve always wanted a dragon. For you. For us.”

Before Barry had time to register the cold dread settling in his belly, the dragons’ mysterious riders dismounted. They didn’t appear to be ten feet tall, and he couldn’t see any elven features below armour that rippled green and white, as if the steel itself was inset with some sort of magic. The riders’ white cloaks billowed about their ankles as they dismounted, and some part of Barry wondered how often they had to clean grass stains from the bottoms.

Only two of the riders dismounted, though, and as they approached they took off their helmets.

The taller of the two was a man with skin the same rich brown as fertile loam, and his pale eyes were kind. He wore his sable-black hair in thick braids in rows down his head that tied into a plait at the back. His strong features were softened by a slight smile that seemed embarrassed to Barry, and his large hands were spread placatingly.

Beside him was a much paler man with red hair that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, cropped closely at the sides and kept in a long braid at the back. He seemed as handsome as the black man, but with coarser features and wearing a cocky smile below a nose that had obviously been broken in the past. The red-headed man kept his hand loosely on the longsword strapped to his side.

The final rider stayed astride his mount, an enormous beast seemingly hammered out of bronze and rippled through with grey-green that seemed to whorl as Barry watched. The delicate, yet enormous, membranes of its wings were the same colour, and Barry felt its eyes on him.

“My apologies, we never meant to scare you,” the black man was saying as he approached, and now he was closer Barry could see his pale green eyes, and how he was much taller than the redhead. “We come Seeking, and mean no harm.”

He felt Eobard bristle besides him, and turned to see him puffing up his chest, clenching his jaw tightly. Thawne had wanted to be a knight as a child, he had told Barry, he had wanted to do good things and reach out and help people… But like Barry, he had been stifled by the realities of backwater town life and instead headed into the Watch.

Thawne had always wanted more, and wanted Barry along with it. Sure, they were workmates and had occasionally ended up at one of the town pubs for a drink, but there was always a hunger in Eobard’s eyes that Barry wasn’t sure what to do with.

Right now that hunger was at the forefront, and Barry was brushed aside as he stepped forward without a second glance. He tried not to feel hurt, because this man wasn’t even his friend, but he was so eager to leave… He swallowed despite his suddenly dry throat as Eobard stepped and kneeled before the taller man.

“It would be an honour to serve you, sers!” he announced, looking up at them in open awe.

The redhead guffawed loudly, and the black rider hushed him with a dismissive wave of his hand. He seemed to have a sad smile on his face.

“Please do not kneel for us, for we do not have the authority to Seek someone.”

“Sers, all I’ve wanted is to bring honour to the Thawne family name and--”

The redheaded man butted in, rather rudely.

“‘Thawne’, you say? Then it’s not you. Maybe next time we come Seeking ‘round these parts.”

Eobard gaped openly at the rider, his eyebrows drawing together without comprehension. Barry could see the dark rider turn around and look towards his dragon, which stood narrower than the one presumably belonging to the redhead. It was a deep, rippling red shot through with streaks of white, and Barry struggled not to look away as its great head swung towards his direction.

It felt like something molten was trailing down his spine, a hot poker pressing into his skin through his clothes and close to the point of pain, but not quite, not really. The red dragon was staring intently at him and the heat seemed to seep into him, and Barry became aware that it was looking_ into _him, beyond that which human sight could possibly perceive.

Like a butterfly pinned down or an ant caught beneath a magnifying glass there was nowhere to go but within those eyes of luminescent green, beyond any natural colour he could think of. The heat was filling his chest from the inside out, and for a moment Barry feared he would combust into flame because the warmth was reaching into his limbs and bones, soaking deep and heavy until he could barely breathe.

With a slowness that seemed infinite, the dragon blinked and looked back towards its rider, tearing the sensation away from Barry and leaving him cold, cold and hollow as the light that had filled him was pulled out of the knob of where his spine met his neck.

An unfathomable sensation of loss made bile rise in his throat. The beast had looked into him as no other living thing had, had made a connection so primal it had felt like its talons had been pressing into his heart directly, and then it had simply torn away from him.

Was that how the knights experienced their dragons? Were they constantly filled with that heat and that light? What was undoubtedly the sensation of magic had flowed through him even briefly was like a high from the first hot day of spring, with a familiarity that made his heart ache for a woman with hair like his own, with a kind smile and soft hands.

In those brief moments, it had felt like home.

“...Allen? Barry, are you paying attention?”

Barry blinked, and found himself on the town common with the tall black rider standing in front of him. He had to crane his neck upwards to meet his eyes.

“I’m here,” he said simply, as if he hadn’t just been immersed in the smell of freshly baked sweets.

“You are Bartholomew Allen, yes? I apologise for Darkstar. It can be… Confronting, when you first Link. Are you okay?” His tone was soft, and Barry found himself nodding along, because while the rider didn’t hold the all-filling fire the dragon’s gaze had, the gentle tone of his speech gave warmth to his belly.

He glanced towards the dragon -- Darkstar -- and it was peering at him with almost avian curiousity, but with none of the reaching, seeking sensation.

“It… Looked into me,” Barry admitted lamely, only barely able to inflect his voice to make it a question.

The rider’s hand rose to rest on his shoulder, and it felt like warm, soft leather against his clothing.

“I can explain, if you’d like to come with us.”

Barry looked away reluctantly, feeling like he was tearing himself away from the warmth of the other man. Eobard was still on his knees, but was looking up, up at Barry.

There was something cold and ugly in his eyes.

“Of course, Ser. Lead the way,” Barry said, not looking away from Thawne because something primal in his chest warned him not to turn his back on a predator, even a wounded one.

“‘John’ is fine, Barry,” the knight -- John -- informed him, gesturing to his redhead companion, who had his arms crossed and was looking dismissively at Thawne.

“This is my companion, Guy. There’s no need for family names where we come from, where we would like to take you. We have each other as family.”

Guy looked up at them, as if he was surprised he had been addressed. His eyes were green as well, but a deeper colour than John’s. Barry supposed he was ruggedly handsome in a different way compared to John’s broad, sculpted features, with a long face and strong chin that he seemed to jut out defiantly.

Uncrossing his arms, Guy stuck out a gloved hand to shake. When Barry clasped his hand, Guy pulled him into a rough half-hug, slapping his back and barking a laugh when Barry stumbled into his chest.

“You’re stuck with us now, Barr! We knights of Oa are brothers, in bond and blood, so you’re gonna have to get used to us.”

John wore a hint of a smile as he spoke. “Don’t overwhelm him just yet. There is plenty of time for that.”

Guy chortled, and wrapped an arm around Barry’s shoulders to pull him close. He was of-height with Barry, so he tried not to let their heads clunk together and found his own arm snaking around Guy’s waist for convenience.

“Don’t worry about John,” Guy said to him in a low, conspiratorial tone that did nothing to hide his words from the other rider, “He’s just a worry-wart. It’s _Hal_ you gotta worry about.”

Barry could see John roll his eyes, and pull his gloves out from where he had tucked them into his belt.

“Hal?” he asked.

“Yup. Our very own princeling, over there on Spectre.” As Guy spoke he directed Barry back across the field, to where the enormous beasts waited. Atop the great green one a helmeted knight sat; was that ‘Hal’? And a princeling, so he was royalty?

Barry’s mind felt like it was overloaded, but Guy’s heavy arm across his shoulders seemed to ground him somewhat.

“Your dragon, does it have a name too?”

Guy squeezed his arm, nodding eagerly. “Of course! You and I and the rest have names, why wouldn’t this big idiot?”

The ‘big idiot’ made a rumbling noise deep in its throat and tilted its box-like head to the side quizzically. It was a brighter red than Darkstar, and rippled with rich blue. The membranes of its wings -- as thick as any leather hide, Barry noticed now he was closer -- were the same shade, and shone a brighter cobalt blue as the dragon spread them and sunlight filtered through.

“His name is Warrior. Don’t let him scare you, he’s really just a big sweetheart. Ain’t’ya, big boy?” Guy called out to Warrior, who appeared to smile as much as a giant reptile could.

The affection between man and dragon was… Sweet, and made Barry have to look away to hide his smile. Guy might have been introducing them, but that level of familiarity didn’t feel like it was for him, not quite. There was a subtle, unspoken barrier that kept him from engaging in the playful banter and it felt guilty to enjoy it, like a voyeur gazing upon some intimate familial ritual…

“But I want to go too!”

The cry of objection made Guy stop in his tracks, and Barry felt the corded muscles in his arms tense. Warrior, too, stood taller than he had and flared his scaled nostrils at Eobard, who had risen to his feet.

His hands were curled into fists and his hair was wild, and was that sweat trickling down his neck? Barry had to bite his tongue. He wanted to apologise, but there wasn’t really any need to, right? He hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t harmed or hurt Eobard in any way.

John gazed at Eobard coolly, the slight smile he had worn while talking to Barry replaced by a contemplative expression. There were lines around his mouth that made Barry realise that he was older than initially thought, but no less handsome.

“...Thawne, your name was?” He asked after a moment of consideration. Eobard nodded, and went to speak.

“Yes, and I want to bring honour to my family’s na--”

John’s expression didn’t change, and his eyes were hard.

“It’s not about _want_, Thawne. Our duties are chosen for us, regardless of our wants. Guy here wanted to be a teacher. I was a mason. Not one of us is a volunteer.”

Eobard’s mouth opened, but then snapped shut as John turned away towards Darkstar.

Guy must have noticed Barry’s discomfort, because his shoulder got another reassuring squeeze.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” asked Guy, lowly. “We won’t force you to come with us, if you do not want. But you won’t… Have another opportunity, probably.”

Barry averted his eyes from the other man’s searching gaze, and drew his shoulders about himself defensively. Thawne being shot down like that had made him feel ill and unsettled, a guilt he couldn’t name gnawing away in his belly, and a fear that was sprouting between his ribs at the offer of denying the riders, running away from their beasts, running all the way back to his little crime scene where he felt at home among the death.

But what was there left for him? A home, sparsely furnished, some not-quite-friends he always felt apart from? There was his mother’s headstone, on the other side of town beneath a tree, where his father was buried and his father’s father, and so on until the oldest headstone crudely carved with the name Allen stood, covered in weeds and forgotten to the wild.

Is that what he wanted? Weeds and headstones and a man with cold eyes?

It was with his heart in his throat that Barry reached up to Warrior, and offered the back of his hand like one would an uneasy horse.

At once he could feel the gush of hot air as the dragon turned to look at him, its eyes easily larger than his head and piercing into him with every inch of the searing intensity that Darkstar had before. His name, his blood, and his entirety were under inspection from a mind beyond his one.

Hot reptilian liquid seemed to seep down his spine, clinging to every notch and vertebrae in turn, searching him inside and out.

The universe seemed to narrow and shrink until it was just him and Warrior, with the dragon arching its neck downwards to entirely fill Barry’s vision, hypnotic and all-consuming.

The dense layering of tiny muscles surrounding the dragon’s maw rippled and shifted, and inch by inch serrated teeth the length of swords were revealed into a terrible grin that became Barry’s world.

Another gust of hot, wet air met his face and he wondered distantly if this had been some sort of trap, a sacrifice made to appease the mysterious dragonlords. Why else would they be searching for someone stupid enough to reach out to this beast, to turn his hand and stretch to touch and…

The scales of Warrior’s snout were tough, but not unpleasant on Barry’s palm. He felt the enormous nostrils twitch, and rubbed his fingers into where the smaller scales started to become larger, leading up the middle of the dragon’s muzzle. Beneath there was warmth, but no more than he would expect from any other living creature.

Barry felt a hysterical giggle slip out of his mouth in equal amounts awe and fear as he scratched Warrior’s nose, earning another gust of hot air.

The dragon was enjoying this. He was petting a dragon. And not getting eaten.

He laughed again, more openly this time, rising onto his toes and leaning up to scratch at a nasty-looking scar that crossed Warrior’s muzzle. He saw the dragon’s talons -- each the length of his forearm, easily -- curl like a cat kneading into the grass and dirt, and the big green eyes crossing as they tried to look at him.

“Yes,” Barry said without thinking about the question he was answering. Whatever Guy had asked him, he was agreeing with it.

“You’ll come with us?”

Palm flat against Warrior’s nose, Barry forced his attention away from the giant reptile and towards its rider and sought language that made any sort of sense outside the world of supernatural warmth in his bones and the texture of tough leather scales against his fingers.

“Yes. I think I will.”

Guy wore that lopsided grin, and Barry laughed lightheartedly, a weight rising from his shoulders. Warrior made a snuffling noise to draw Barry’s attention, and then slowly swung its massive head towards the largest of the dragons, the one that was bronze and rippling green. On its back sat Hal, the final rider, the princeling. He wore a green steel helmet, shaped into the form of some enormous bird beak that covered his face completely.

He was beckoning Barry over.

“Ha, look at that,” Guy said suddenly, startling Barry, “You’ve impressed him. Go on, introduce yourself.” He pushed Barry forward and grinned at him, reaching up to pet Warrior’s snout affectionately.

Barry stepped towards the other dragon and its mount, crossing the green with uneasy steps. The rider hadn’t looked away from him, and was dismounting with quick, efficient movements. As he approached, Barry saw the intricacy of the massive saddle, the amount of leather straps and the thickness of the leather harness that kept it strapped firmly to the dragon’s body. It also appeared padded as if in preparation for long distance travelling, and he saw what appeared to be the equivalent of saddlebags strapped in as well.

The dragon inclined its shoulder to let ‘Hal’ clamber down, sliding down the forelimb and avoiding the massive folded wing limb with deft ability. Once the rider was on the ground, Barry could see the intricate engravings that lined Hal’s breastplate, and the delicate lobstering of his pauldrons and gauntlets. Beneath the plate was green material so dark it was nearly black, but the edges of his tunic were embroidered with detailed, tangled white flames that licked up the fabric to draw the eye back to his breastplate.

Hal’s helmet was as aquiline as Barry had thought, but now that he was closer he could see that its shape mirrored that of the sinuous dragon engraved on his breast, and what he had initially thought were merely hinges to the visor were instead twin wings sprouting out to flank a crown of spiralling dragon horns, ones that mirrored his mount’s.

Beneath the dark shadow of the visor Barry could see eyes observing him, and the hint of a… smile?

His mouth went dry, and he dropped to one knee to bow his head.

“My lord ser!” That was the proper address, right? “I accept the opportunity to come with you. It is an honour.”

A breathy laugh seemed to get caught in the helmet, and sounded dry to Barry’s ears. A soft touch to the back of his head nearly made him leap out of his skin, but he quickly recognised it as the tips of fingers, gently pressing against the crown of his head.

“No need for the ‘sers’ now, Barry. Stand up, now, we can’t take you back to Oa like that.” Hal’s voice sounded younger than John’s, but not as impertinent as Guy’s.

He wasn’t sure what the dragonlord was referring to. Did he mean while Barry was kneeling? Barry frowned to himself and stood back up, brushing any grass off his trousers.

To his alarm, Hal’s visor had been silently slid up, and warm brown eyes met his openly, with challenge in them.

His face was sunkissed, and Barry had been right about the strong brow, but hadn’t seen the straight, defiant set of his jaw or the cocked smile he wore. He couldn’t see Hal’s hair beneath the helmet, but he made a guess to assume he wore it long like the other riders, and he idly wondered if it were as dark and thick as his eyebrows indicated.

“Have I got something on my face?”

Barry forced himself to look away from the sparse freckles that dusted Hal’s cheeks and nose, and felt blood rise to his face. “No, sorry, ser, I’ve just-- Never laid eyes on a prince before, ser. I wasn’t expecting you to be…”

“As young and handsome as I am?” He laughed when Barry made a strangled noise in embarrassment. “It’s okay, I get it from everyone, relax, you look like you’re going to have a heart attack. And what did I say about the ‘sers’?”

Barry swallowed thickly, avoiding Hal’s amused gaze and crossing his arms, feeling a touch like a scolded child. “No need for them.” He summoned whatever bravery he had, and met Hal’s eyes. “Ser.”

“Well look at that,” Hal murmured, the corner of his lips turning upwards into a lopsided grin, “He has a tongue on him. No wonder you’ve got Guy and John all starry-eyed.”

From behind, Barry heard a shout from Guy, _“Hey!”_ and he had to press a hand to his mouth to prevent his laughter from being heard. Hal was looking at his mouth.

“Now why don’t you come over here. You can’t fly like that,” the princeling said, looking away only to cast a critical eye over Barry’s clothing. If he had known he was to speak with a prince, he would have worn something more than a tunic and jacket with his trousers. He brushed his hands over the fabric, self-conscious.

“I can change, if it is not suitable for your presence?” he asked, his fingers playing with the hem of his jacket and suddenly feeling a small degree of guilt for the little shield sewn on. It tasted like betrayal, and he hoped Jay could forgive him.

Hal scoffed, and waved an arm at his dragon until it knelt down in the grass, its enormous limbs folding neatly beneath its bulk.

“Over here, over here… You’re about my size, right? Right.” Hal turned and stepped up on the dragon’s resting forelimb to reach the saddlebags mounted towards the front of the beast. Barry nodded an awkward greeting at the dragon, and it blinked its eyes with infinite slowness in acknowledgement.

Barry swore he could feel the phantom brush of fingers along the back of his throat, and reached a hand up to dismiss the sensation. The fine lines around Spectre’s eye crinkled, and it blew a hot breath from its nostrils in what had to be amusement.

“You’re not allowed to laugh at me,” he told the dragon, who huffed and crinkled its eyes.

He was about to stick out his tongue when Hal came back over, with what appeared to be load of fur in his arms. A cloak? He spotted at least two shades of brown, so that couldn’t be it.

“Here, try these on,” Hal said, shifting the load to one arm and offering him a thick, long tunic woven with dense wool. When he took it, it was neither particularly soft or rough, but it was a heavy weave that felt reassuring to the touch.

Glancing back at the crowd still assembled perhaps a hundred yards back -- and noting the lack of Eobard’s presence -- he slipped the tunic over his head and wiggled it down, the hem falling to just above his boots. The sleeves were long, and Hal was already handing him a pair of fur-lined gloves and an overcoat of dense woven fur.

As he slipped it on he noticed the rippling of colours and ran his fingers through it. It was wolf pelt, a mixture of greys and whites. Already he felt warm beneath all the layers, but Hal was finally handing him a long leather belt and a strange-looking hat, composed of fur with two large furry flaps that had woollen strings attached to the bottom.

Barry tied the belt closed and handled the cap with confusion until Hal took it from him and shoved it onto his head, tugging at the strings and tying them firmly under his chin. The brush of the cool metal of Hal’s gauntlets on the sensitive skin of his throat made the furs seem warmer than they should.

For a brief moment in time, Hal was looking at him with something close to affection in his eyes. It was nothing like the cold possession and lingering intent Eobard carried with his gaze, but something… Else. It felt distantly like that initial surge of fire Darkstar had given him, but a slower burn, and more controlled.

“There you go,” Hal said, tapping his fingers against Barry’s cheek to get his wandering attention. “You’re ready to fly.”

“I’ve never… Flown before,” Barry said, because it was true. As far as he had learned, the sky was the realm of birds and bats and dragons and the men that rode them. He supposed now, he realised with a giddy rush, he’d be one of those riders now.

“You’ve never flown with me before,” Hal said, like it was a reassurance.

The prince offered his hand as he stepped up to Spectre’s forelimb, and curled his fingers to beckon Barry forward.

Barry couldn’t feel his fingers digging into his palm through the gloves, and maybe that was a good thing; that he couldn’t feel the sting and reconsider making that leap forward to take Hal’s hand, letting the other man draw him closer until they were almost chest-to-chest, and he could see the speckles of gold in Hal’s eyes.

“Climb on up,” the prince instructed, keeping a guiding hand on the small of Barry’s back, “Spectre will let you.”

In front of him was an arrangement of thick braided leather that connected to the saddle. It seemed stable enough, and with confidence he didn’t truly feel he climbed upwards. Pulling himself up, Barry felt a touch silly in how clumsy he moved in comparison to how smoothly the other riders dismounted.

He couldn’t help but let out an inarticulate noise when those strong hands gripped his hips, and helped push him up and onto Spectre’s shoulder properly, and he heard Hal chuckle behind him. Barry hoped the townspeople wouldn’t be able to see his bottom sticking out as he pulled himself up and hiked his leg up and around the saddle. Even lowered, the dragon’s back was easily twice his height, and the saddle was easily half a foot thick.

The curve of the saddle supported him nicely, though, and the pommel was firm against his belly, probably to avoid sliding forward and onto the wicked bronzed spikes and ridges that ran along Spectre’s spine. The scales pointed upwards, and shifted when the dragon inclined its head to look over and seem to give Barry an approving once-over.

Hal followed him up shortly afterwards with far more grace than his own ascent, and settled in behind Barry with closeness that made him shiver. He could feel the unyielding metal breastplate pressed against his back through all the layers, and it made some of the unease pooling in the back of his throat lessen.

“You ready?” Hal asked, no more than a warm sensation against where Barry’s ear was covered in fur. He felt the prince shift, and reach his hands around Barry’s waist to grip onto a length of tightly braided cord. He felt a flush rise to his cheeks as Hal tied it to his belt, and then to Hal’s own. Tying him to the dragon.

Barry nodded, looking back over his shoulder to see Hal giving him a lopsided grin, teeth flashing. A shot of adrenaline went through his veins at the raw confidence the prince displayed, and an uncertain smile found its way across Barry’s lips.

“Attaboy.” Hal nodded approvingly, and seemingly without any form of command the great beast below the saddle began to rise.

Barry clutched the saddle and squeezed his legs down on the leather as best he could, and he knew his knuckles would be white beneath the gloves. Spectre lumbered to his feet with reptilian grace, and if he rose up in his seat a bit he could see that Darkstar and Warrior were already padding across the commons, their enormous talons digging up tufts of grass and massive wings unfolding in a way that brought unfurling sails to mind.

Spectre, too, was extending its wings. Compared to the dark bronze and green rippling of its body, the membrane was a bright, translucent green that reminded him of fresh spring growth, and he could see thick, darker veins snaking through the skin with reaching fingers.

He jumped when he felt Hal’s presence next to him, and only had to glance to see the helmet’s visor had been pulled down to obscure his face. Now that he was within inches, he could see the immaculate engravings that seemed to draw him closer, seek his attention and focus.

Hal must have noticed, because he inclined his head, just enough to speak lowly into Barry’s ear. “It can be scary at first.” That startled him, and a steadying hand of Hal’s was holding onto where his belt was tied to the saddle.

“I’m not scared,” Barry insisted with more bravado than he felt.

“No,” Hal agreed with a thoughtful look that made Barry slightly uncomfortable, “You wouldn’t be. Brace yourse--”

Even before he had finished speaking, Spectre reared and the entire universe felt like it dropped out of Barry’s stomach as its enormous wings beat at the air like thunderclaps. Barry would have screamed, if all the air in his lungs wasn’t being sucked out by rushing air and the awareness that Hal was pushing him forward while bringing his hips back, letting him incline and almost lay on the saddle. His hands were firm around his waist, and it felt reassuring to have the warm bulk at his back.

He dared to peer down, over Spectre’s shoulder as much as possible and felt his stomach lurch when he saw the ground wheeling away, the town common shrinking into a square not larger than his palm, neatly bordered by the thin blue ribbon of the river, which curled lazily across the patchworked landscape.

From such a height everything looked so small. He couldn’t see the individuals in the crowd, and soon the crowd was merely a dark scatter on the green. Even the town itself looked small, with its winding roads and uneven cobblestones. He couldn’t see his own house, but he knew it was there, somewhere, in the close-set buildings. Something in his heart ached for what he was leaving behind, perhaps permanently.

He hadn’t been able to pay the farmer for the apple.

The thought filled him like an arrow to the chest, along with the sudden realisation he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Singh or Frye or Max or Jay, and that last part hurt the most. Jay with his smiling crows feet and endless laughter. His pipe, which lay heavy against Barry’s chest.

Barry swallowed down a lump in his throat and pressed his arm against the stinging in his eyes that had nothing to do with the wicked rushing wind. The endless blue of the spring skies blurred, and what was there beyond it if those he loved weren’t there?

He gripped the pommel of the saddle, hiding himself from the great beast below and the rider just behind him, the reassuring weight becoming an oppressive anchor, pulling him down even as he soared, high above the world that stretched to infinity beneath him. Barry grabbed the arm that was holding on carefully to his belt, and for a single delirious moment considered throwing himself off the dragon, back down to earth where he belonged, with his friends like Jay and Singh, and his family…

His heart went to Nora, on the hill. She wouldn’t be waiting for him, having been given back to the earth, from whence all men had been born. His head spun, and he was gasping for breath, fighting to get the air into his lungs.

“Reject that fear,” a voice was saying in his ear, struggling to be heard over the rushing wind and blood in his ears, “Deny it root in your heart.”

What else was there? He was running away from everything he had ever known, but… What was that? A half-empty house and a few workmates? Even Frye, the man who acted as his foster father had always had a layer of emotional distance from Barry, despite the man’s best attempts. Jay was a friend that invited him to supper, but he couldn’t tell his favourite food or ale or even his birthday.

A deep ache settled into the pit of Barry’s belly, and he knew that whatever had once been his had been sunk to the bottom of that grave on the hill, beneath the old tree.

His breath calmed, letting the screaming wind fill his lungs just as easily as it had taken it just before. It tasted sweet and cool, thin enough that he felt it deeply from the inside of his chest. His cheeks were bitter with tears, but they didn’t hurt so much.

There was a strong arm around his chest, and he was aware of Hal’s presence behind his ear, and of Spectre’s great mass below his body.

“You did great,” the princeling called, and while Barry couldn’t see his face through the faceplate, the tone held no hint of mockery. The arm was still wrapped around him, grounding him.

Barry stubbornly tried to wipe the tears from his cheeks and stop the hiccups bubbling in his chest because besides how raw his heart felt, it was humiliating to have a breakdown in front of a prince.

He felt Hal’s eyes on him, even through the green metal, and tried to look away.

“We’ve got a long flight ahead of us, Barr,” Hal said, as if he hadn’t just seen Barry have a mild meltdown, “You should get some sleep.”

“You mean… Right here?” Barry’s voice was lost to the wind, but Hal nodded anyway. He was probably reading his lips.

The prince nodded, slightly exaggerated likely so Barry could read it through the helmet.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Hal said, and the strange honesty in his voice made Barry believe him.

* * *

The first time Barry saw Oa, it was a strange shape on the horizon, jutting out into the sky and enshrouded in tiny, flickering lights.

Scale was hard to discern from such height and distance, but the mountain towered over the rest of the landscape. The coast was just beyond, and even from Spectre’s back he could smell the fresh salt and feel the cooler air through his furs.

From what he could tell, the dragons had flown through the day and past sundown, and Barry had awoken to a wash of stars that seemed so close he could simply reach up and touch them, brush his fingers through like delicate, sparkling waters.

Hal had held him close, then, and pointed out towards where the black landscape met sable skies.

“That’s Oa,” he had said, just loud enough that Barry could hear him, “That’s our home.”

It felt surreal, as if he was still in a dream. He leaned back against the prince and looked up to the stars. The familiar constellations were there, as if he hadn’t been flying for hours across the continent. As if he had barely even left.

“What do you see?” Hal asked him.

“There’s the… Hunter and his Hound,” Barry pointed out, tracing the lines of the bow etched in stars, “And the Leviathan, over there, with the red eye.” The red star was twinkling brightly, and he could feel Hal’s arm around him again.

“That’s how we find our way back to Oa. We call it the Weyrstar.” He must have anticipated Barry’s confusion, because he continued almost without pause. “‘Weyr’ is an old word for a dragon nest. It’s what Oa is.”

Each lazy beat of Spectre’s massive wings carried them closer, and Barry began to make out that the mountain was not unlike an enormous cradle, raised circular edges forming a ring of tall stone walls protecting a sheltered crater. Fires burned along the rugged battlements and he could see the tiny dots of guards manning the high walls.

The scale of the mountain didn’t register at first, but at the bottom he could see a proper city nestled against the base of the cradle, itself ringed with high walls that stood no taller than the length of his thumb from this height. Stonebridge in its entirety could fit behind those walls thrice over, not to mention the sprawling fields of farms that lay beyond, only visible in the night due to the darkened roads cutting them into neat squares.

Spectre and the other dragons were flying in from the east, and Barry imagined that the morning sun would reflect magnificently off the side of the weyr and bathe the entire city in sunlight.

At some unspoken order, Spectre beat its wings and began to tilt, veering to one side and beginning to circle around like an enormous carrion bird. Across from himself he spotted Darkstar and Warrior both doing the same, John and Guy’s cloaks billowing and their helms pulled down to hide their faces.

Within the weyr were sheer walls covered in large openings and interior fortresses, all bristling with torches, and Barry had the sudden realisation that those were probably nests for dragons, only accessible from within or by flight. Deep within, past the inbuilt fortifications and caves, was a bottom that sat far below what he knew was ground level, and revealed that the immense walls of the weyr cradle subtly curved inwards, as if to protect the enormous chamber hidden below.

As Spectre descended the circling got tighter and tighter, until it was almost hovering in place as it worked its wings, each flap like a thunderclap against the stone walls. Hal’s hands were firm around the reins attached to the saddle, but he did not seem alarmed or concerned despite the unusual sensation of massive muscles moving below, and the gusts of wind that came with each beat of Spectre’s wings.

The ‘entrance’, such as it was, was large enough for the three dragons to descend, but it was close enough that Barry briefly wondered if their wings were going to clip, and send them all tumbling deep into the weyr’s depths.

He tried to peer into the caves dug into the walls, but while he could see people moving within -- _like an ant’s nest, _he thought -- they paid him no attention. Was this a common event? Surely it wouldn’t be normal for the so-called prince to basically-kidnap people, right?

Spectre thudded to the floor of the cavern with a jolt that sent Barry’s stomach to his throat, and he heard Hal laugh behind him, arm tightening around his waist.

“Not that bad, huh?” He asked, and Barry watched out of the corner of his eye as Hal pushed his helm back, revealing his sunkissed face and smiling eyes. There were flecks of gold in them, highlighted by the glow of torches around the walls. Barry found something… About them, that he couldn’t exactly name.

“Couldn’t be bad with you helping me,” he said with no forethought, and watched as Hal’s eyes creased in amusement.

“Hah, you’re a charmer,” said the prince as he began to untie the complicated knots that connected he and Barry to the dragon. His fingers were deft despite the gauntlets, and before Barry had time to think he was free and sitting precariously atop the saddle he had grown so comfortable in.

“Come on now, no dilly-dallying on the dragon,” Hal insisted as he climbed up and around as Spectre inclined, lowering his shoulders closer to the ground. He waited on the rope ladder with his hand extended, the firelight gleaming on his armour like liquid. It was like a mirror from when he had first invited Barry up, but this time the air smelled of something deeper and rawer and the darkness was broken by the steady light of the almost-full moon streaming down from the weyr’s entrance.

Spectre gave a deep rumble that brought him out of his thoughts, and Barry awkwardly swung his leg over to try and take Hal’s hand, but the breath went out of him when strong armoured hands wrapped around his waist and _lifted_, pulling him off the saddle and swinging him around, lowering him to the stone floor in a single fluid motion.

Barry laughed, and it felt like a weight lifting from him. He pulled off the fur hat and held it to his chest as if to try and stifle the giggles, but Hal’s gaze lingered on what must have been a terrible case of hat-hair and it set off another burst of laughter.

Moments afterwards, a heavy hand clapped his shoulder and nearly sent him stumbling.

“You didn’t scare our boy too bad, didja?” Guy asked, tucking his helmet below his arm and wrapping the other around Barry’s shoulder. “He didn’t scare you, did he? I’ll fight him if he did.”

“You’ll fight him regardless,” John said smoothly from Barry’s other side, and in the flickering light the lines of his face seemed deeper than before, but not in a hard way.

“And what if I do? Ain’t none of your business,” Guy shot back, and John’s laugh was rich and rumbling, and Hal was rolling his eyes and taking off his helmet.

Barry felt like he shouldn’t be surprised, but a long braid tumbled from beneath the steel and fell easily to the centre of Hal’s back. Like Guy, the sides were cropped short but he wore the front locks loose, letting them curl over his face handsomely.

What a strange thought. Barry disregarded it promptly.

“So this is Oa?” he piped up, cutting through and drawing attention to himself. “--I mean, Hal explained it to me, but…”

Guy squeezed his shoulder, and John’s gaze was sympathetic.

“It’s going to be confusing, I know,” John said comfortingly, “But this is our home. And hopefully, it will be yours as well.”

That brought him pause.

“‘Hopefully’?”

An unfamiliar voice interrupted.

“You didn’t tell the boy he has a choice in the matter?”

Barry felt Guy’s arm tighten around his shoulders, and John was looking back behind himself, a small smile lighting up his lips. Barry arched his neck to try and get a good look, and spotted an older man, perhaps in his forties, approaching.

He wore his hair long like the other riders, but not tied back so it tumbled down to his shoulders and was pushed behind his ear. A single braid fell, and was tied neatly. His green eyes were sharp and attentive, and Barry felt… Examined when they gazed at him with cool focus.

“Oh, shit, right,” Hal was saying, having been in the process of undoing the complicated ties that made up Spectre’s saddle. He was being assisted by what looked to be groomsmen, but for dragons rather than horses. “Alan, d’you mind taking over? I’ve got chafing like nothing else right now.”

Hal seemed reluctant to leave him in the care of someone else, and it made Barry feel… Something, that he wasn’t entirely ready to dissect yet. That, or the feeling of Guy’s body being pressed against his or the way John’s small smile made him feel all tender inside.

Alan circled them until he was standing in front of Barry, resting his fingers against his chin thoughtfully. He was handsome, in the way some older men were after growing out of boyish softness. There were lines across his forehead that indicated his scowl was a frequent one, but the drawn line of his mouth fitted his wide jaw.

“So you’re the new one?” Alan asked, and his gruff demeanor briefly faltered. “My apologies if Hal hasn’t explained much to you. He gets… Carried away.”

Barry inclined his chin, and thought of how eager Hal was to scoop him up onto Spectre and take him to Oa.

“He -- and Guy and John -- didn’t kidnap me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

A corner of Alan’s lips quirked upwards, and he seemed to relax, crossing his arms over his chest. Unlike the riders, he went armourless and wore a red tunic lined with fur that fell to his shins, and simple black boots. It looked comfortable for the cool temperature within the weyr, and without touching it Barry could tell the material was soft. Around Alan’s neck was a deep green serpent, delicately engraved.

“If you’d like to come with me, Barry, I’ll show you to your quarters,” Alan said, stepping to the side and inviting him forward.

Guy chortled in Barry’s ear.

“Don’t let that gruff face worry you, Barr. He’s a softy deep inside, you just gotta keep digging!”

“Don’t you have a dragon to be sorting out, Gardner?”

Guy let out a barking laugh, and somewhere behind them in the cavern Warrior echoed the sentiment.

“Off you go now,” said the redhead, and with that encouragement finally unwrapped his arm and pushed Barry forward, towards Alan, who was already moving towards one of the many passages cut into the sheer stone wall.

With the vaguely unsettling sensation of being watched, Barry had to hurry forward to catch up with the other man, feeling weighed down by the layers he had been forced to wear. It wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been so high up in the air, but the cool still kissed his face. Perhaps he should keep the furs on for a while longer.

“How did you know my name?” Perhaps it wasn’t the best thing to ask first, but he didn’t remember anyone mentioning it while Alan was around.

“We’ve known your name for a while now. You think you were randomly chosen?” Alan had tucked his hands into opposite sleeves, and Barry watched his flickering shadow on the wall. The corridor was lined with burning sconces and smelled faintly of charcoal.

“I mean… They asked for me?” As they went deeper, branching hallways appeared to offshoot from the main one they were traversing. _Like veins and arteries_, he thought.

Alan nodded, and steered him towards a staircase cut roughly into the stone wall, smoothed by countless feet passing over it.

“You were asked for, so we went Seeking for you. Careful now, these steps can be slippery.” He offered his arm, but Barry didn’t need it.

The stairs were easily twice as wide as he was tall, and two distinct divots had been worn into each step: one from people ascending, and one from people descending. Sticking to the outside divot Barry found the steps quick to climb and somewhat hypnotic with the flashes of torchlight making his and Alan’s shadows dance on the walls.

“Why me? And not Eobard?” Alan was giving him a quizzical look. “Eobard, um. Tried to volunteer, before they said it was me.”

At that, the older man rolled his eyes. The question made him look a few years older with the way his scowl deepened.

“If he wants to volunteer that badly he can come to Oa and do it properly, not try and hitch a ride with our knights.” Barry tried not to smile at the idea of Eobard sticking out his thumb and trying to hitchhike as Warrior and Darkstar flew overhead, and ended up biting his lip. “Anyway, why wouldn’t it be you? You seem like a strong and capable lad. The other boys like you, that’s for sure.”

“Because I’m…” Barry floundered. “Me?”

Alan’s silence was filled only by the sounds of their footsteps echoing down the stairway. A person -- possibly a groom? -- was hurrying down, and gave Alan a respectful nod.

Barry tried again.

“I’m not a very… Knightly person, I think. I’m not particularly brave, and I’ve always been terrible at riding horses. I don’t know which cutlery to use, and I’ve never been a… Proper man, I guess.”

That made Alan stop, and he was giving Barry an intense look that felt like it was burning through him, scalding him from the inside out.

“What is a proper man?”

“I’m… Sorry?” Barry felt pinned to the wall at his back.

“I asked you: What is a proper man? Guy, back there. Is he a proper man? Don’t answer that, of course he is. When you were a child, when did you decide to be a boy?”

The question hurt in a way Barry couldn’t articulate, and he found himself looking down and away, back down the spiralling staircase that they had come from. Maybe he could run down and beg Hal to take him back, to apologise, that they had the wrong person. He swallowed thickly.

“I’ve always been a boy.”

“And you knew that?” Alan was like a hound, constantly on him.

“Ever since I could remember; I was a boy.”

“Then you’re a proper man! Congratulations! Welcome to the club! Now no more worrying about your supposed manhood. That’s not why you’re here. You’re here to ride a dragon. Manhood is not a prerequisite for what we Sought you for.”

Alan went back to walking up the stairs, but he seemed to hear that Barry wasn’t following him. He turned, and raised a brow.

“I’m here to ride a dragon,” Barry said, for the first time realising why they taken him, and a hot sliver of something unidentifiable sliding down his spine because… He hadn’t really considered this outcome. They had come to Seek him, but what for? To be a knight, probably. That’s what lords did, right? Take boys for their squires, raise them in the martial arts and make them soldiers to serve and defend the realm.

Above the lords of the land reigned the dragonlords, from their mysterious mountain in the far west, on the beaches of the endless sea beyond. If the lords took boys and made them into knights with horse and lance, then the dragonlords… It slotted into place and Barry swore his stomach had fallen out and tumbled down the stairs.

Alan was watching Barry coolly as the entire world rearranged itself around him, as if he knew. His eyes were emerald in the firelight, and the wrinkles around them seemed to be amused at the way Barry must have been gaping.

“Not to hurry you, but I really must show you your chambers,” Alan said calmly, with a half-smile that Barry hoped was understanding. When he finally found that his knees had stopped threatening to give out, he took the stairs two at a time to catch up.

“So are you a rider as well? What’s the name of your dragon?”

He felt rude for asking, but there was a fire within him now. Like when he had met eyes with Darkstar, or touched Warrior, but more subtle, simmering within him.

Alan exhaled in what might have been a laugh if he had been Guy.

“Indeed I am. But you’ll more often find me here at Oa. While Hal is our very own prince, Guy and John are his wingleaders. That is, they are his lieutenants and bodyguards. I am, in the old tongue, the Weyrmaster.”

“So you’re… The one in charge?” With all this new information Barry felt half a child again, but he was too curious to feel ashamed of his questions.

“In a way. I take care of supplies, and payment to those owed.” He must have caught Barry’s confused expression. “You saw Weyrtown on your way in, yes? That entire city and its surrounds supports us here at Oa. A veritable army is needed to support a hundred dragons between feed and armour, not to mention the support network within the Weyr itself. For every rider, there is a hundred people working behind the scenes to support them. Those people need to be paid.”

The logistics of it all made his head boggle, and at the same time it reminded him distinctly of an ant’s nest, or a beehive. Thousands in their collective, all working together to support one another, building and farming and burrowing within an enormous anthill. That’s what Oa was, and Barry could suddenly feel the crushing weight above and around him of pure stone.

“Also; Sentinel.”

That made Barry snap out of the brief existential crisis he had fallen into.

“Sorry?”

“My dragon. His name is Sentinel.”

They had reached a landing that opened to another arterial corridor, this one lined with rich tapestries of green and red and gold. Dragons were emblazoned across them, burning castles and soaring above seas and mountains alike, and Barry felt like he could look at them forever and still find new details.

“Through here.”

He led Barry through the hallway, down to where two well-armoured guards stood flanking a massive oaken door. Barry couldn’t see their faces past their plated helmets, and they didn’t move until Alan gestured.

One, the broader-shouldered one with the horned helmet, turned to look at him, and Barry didn’t feel intimidated so much as… Inspected. Swallowing dryly, he waited as Alan pulled out a metal skeleton key that was, frankly, an absurd size and slotted it into the door. There were a few jiggles, and a complex clicking sound of machinery could be heard from within.

He was just about to start shifting awkwardly when the door finally gave a resounding __thunk __and Alan used his shoulder to push it open, exposing a dark portal into rooms unknown. The horned-helmeted guard pulled a torch from its sconce next to the door and passed it to Alan silently, who then lead the way in fearlessly.

When the room came into light, Barry could see walls lined with rugs, and the stone floor was covered likewise. Trying not to appear as nervous as he felt, he stepped in and was immediately struck by how… Homey it felt. There was a massive bed on one side, with intricately carved wood forming the frame and thick layers of fur and linen. Across from the doorway was a fireplace as tall as he was, and Alan knelt in front of it to set the wood there to light.

By the time flames were licking at the surrounding stone, Barry had found the wall opposite to the bed. Or, rather, he found the __lack__ of the wall. Instead was glass panelling facing out and into the great caldera of Oa, speckled with dots of flame and shifting serpentine shadows that seemed to dance in his vision.

A strange ephemeral sensation of dizziness brushed through him, a gentle reminder.

“Alan?” he asked, summoning up whatever bravery he could, “Can I ask you a… Weird question? About the dragons.”

Alan had returned the torch to the guards outside and closed the door, so they were in private.

“Of course. This is all new to you; I’d expect you to have questions. ‘Weird’ or otherwise.”

He had returned to tending the fire, and Barry was grateful for the warmth slowly seeping through the room. It was lavish, but it had yet to take on the life that made any sort of home.

He rubbed his arms self-consciously and glanced through the glass, through to where he could see hollows carved into the wall, where dark shadows stirred distantly.

“When I was on Spectre I… Got really emotional. Same as when I touched Warrior, or when I met eyes with Darkstar that first time. It felt like I was… Raw, and they were looking inside me. I… Cried on Spectre, and I don’t really know why,” he said, even though he knew exactly why. That wasn’t a conversation he was quite ready to have just yet.

Alan was giving him that cool, calculating look again. So near the fire, his eyes were shifting facets of emerald.

“Dragons a deeply empathetic creatures,” he started, slowly. “They’re also innately magical, but I suppose that’s common knowledge. They need that magic to fly, and so they don’t bake alive in their skins.”

“The heat?”

Alan nodded, rising from his crouch and striding over to join Barry at the window.

“The heat. Nobody really knows whether it’s magical or a physical adaptation, but they project onto surrounding beings. Animals can’t really pick it up, but humans can. That’s how they talk to us.”

Barry nodded, trying to understand.

“I’ve seen shepherds say that their herding dogs talk to them, in some strange way. Same with horses. I suppose.”

Alan was giving him that small smile of amusement, and didn’t say anything until he turned and leaned his hip against the windowsill, gazing out into Oa’s caldera.

“So yes. For someone uninitiated, the sudden mental connection can be… Overwhelming, and emotionally taxing.” He paused, blinking slowly. “I cried when they came for me. It was Hal’s father, actually, when he was the prince. Hal looks just like him, you know.” There was something… Wistful in his voice, and Barry didn’t dare to interrupt.

“You’re, what, twenty summers old?” he asked, turning his gaze to Barry with a strange sort of intensity.

“Twenty and three.”

“Then you’d be old enough to remember the Red Day.”

Barry tried not to remember the fire in the sky, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Martin fell, then. In the last battle against the Adversary. Spectre was large enough, and Hal, bless him, argued until his father allowed him in the Wing. The fire in that boy’s eyes were like nothing else, and Martin was so proud of him. When Martin fell, after setting the Adversary to flight, something… Hardened in Hal’s heart. That fire in his heart turned to obsidian.”

Barry found the intensity in Alan’s eyes to be uncomfortable, and averted his own to look down into the central cavern.

“Sharp? Obsidian cuts fine,” he asked, remembering cutting his finger on a spearhead of the strange black glass the Watch had kept for prosperity. He hadn’t even felt it until he noticed the blood on his clothes.

“Mm. Sharp, but delicate. When the father fell, the boy tried to fly to him. I don’t think he believed it, until Bishop…” The silence after his words gaped cavernous, and Barry had to bite his tongue before he fell in and interrupted. “It has been said that when a dragon dies, they become a star. It’s not wrong. Most simply forget that stars _burn_.”

It took a full moment for the horror of that statement to sink in fully, and Barry’s breath caught in his throat.

“So Hal--?”

Alan nodded, and his expression softened marginally.

“He had just seen his eleventh summer. Since then, he and Spectre have been inseparable, and when he became prince he took to it like a fish to water.” Alan had relaxed, and there was a note of affection in his tone. Perhaps he viewed Hal like a son, after his close relationship with Martin.

Barry_hoped_ he viewed Hal like a son, in a strangely hopeful and possessive way he wasn’t going to analyse right there and then.

Something was bothering him, though.

“You said… Hal’s father was a prince? And then Hal _became_ the prince?” Surely it must be a hereditary position, given the titles? Alan merely nodded, and pushed himself off the windowsill to head back into the room proper, which was now glowing a warm orange thanks to the fire.

“Indeed. The specifics are… Difficult to understand, for someone who is new to the weyr. Tomorrow you will be bathed and presented to our Lord,” he explained, striding over to an oaken wardrobe that sat near the bed and pulling open the doors. The proper noun was heavily implied. “And then you will decide if you wish to stay and become a rider.”

Barry peeked over the older man’s shoulder, and saw various clothstuffs hanging, obviously prepared for his arrival.

“There should be something in here that will fit you for the night. Should you stay, we will arrange seamstresses to measure you for a proper fitting.”

“This… Seems like a lot of preparation for someone who might not even want to stay,” Barry blurted, having trouble putting the dots together in his head. Oa knew he was coming, according to the other riders, but this much preparation…

Alan didn’t answer immediately, and was pulling out a long woollen tunic and loose trousers, laying them across the bed linen and smoothing out the lines. They smelled faintly of soap, so they must not have been waiting long for him.

“It isn’t often the prince and his wingleaders are sent out Seeking. It’s rarer that those Sought do not wish to stay with us. The Lord is perceptive of these things, and rarely does he make mistakes.”

Alan’s fingers lingered, but his eyes were flickering up Barry’s body in analysis.

“I don’t think you are one of those. Hal seems rather attached to you, and I trust his judgement almost as much as my own.”

“Almost?”

He cracked a smile. “Hal’s a clever boy, but clever does not always mean wise.”

That made Barry laugh, because he saw that in Hal; the headstrong cocksure nature of the prince had radiated from him so proudly.

“I should leave you to your rest, then,” Alan said, neatly folding his hands behind his back. “Tomorrow will be a big day, and you do not want to go into it weary from flight. Should you need anything, Kilowog will be just outside. He’s a good man.”

The unusual name gave Barry pause.

“The…” Awkwardly, he held his hands to his head, and pointed his fingers in imitation of the horns that had crowned the man’s helmet. “His name is Kilowog?”

Alan’s smile was thin, but not unamused. “He’s a volunteer, from a far land. He’s a good friend of Hal’s, and basically raised him after Martin fell.” He paused, as if thinking. “Do not try and out-drink him. Guy has tried many a time before, and many a time he has failed.”

The mental image was enough to make Barry giggle, and he conceded to the warning. “Thank you for… Taking care of me,” he said, sitting down on the plush bed and sinking deep into its linen.

Alan was tending to the fire to add more logs, but was soon standing by the door. His expression was neutral, but there were only a few thin lines around his eyes.

“It’s my pleasure, Barry. Try and sleep well, I’ll see you in the morn.”

Alan gave him a respectful nod and pulled the thick iron ring that formed a handle to open the door. It was wrought iron and looked like it only added to the immense weight of the door, which swung open slowly.

“Good night,” Barry offered before Alan left, and when the door swung shut he waited until the muffled sound of footsteps became inaudible. Making sure not to mess up the bedclothes lain out for him, he slipped from the bed and went to the door. Outside would be the guard, Kilowog, and the rest of the weyr, which was a fortress beyond compare. And yet, the door was as thick as a man with big metal studs for reinforcement. The locks were plentiful, and there were brackets to put a drawbar in.

Even if someone had the key, it would be nigh-impossible to get into the room if it was fully locked.

The thought alarmed Barry just as much as it reassured him.

He slid the deadbolt across and latched the complicated chain nailed into the wall. If someone wanted to disturb him, Barry decided in a small fit of rebelliousness, they would have to knock first.

It was only then that he went back and started to disrobe, slipping off his boots and finally pulling the heavy layers of warm clothes over his head. The room was warm enough that he didn’t feel too chilly as he slipped off his trousers.

Compared to the clothes he had brought from home, the bedclothes offered were soft to the touch, and Barry couldn’t help but rub the fabric between thumb and forefinger. They felt light, but he doubted he would be cold between them and the downy sheets layered on the bed.

He hesitated a moment before unwinding the tight material from his chest, folding it neatly beneath the rest of his clothes before pulling the nightshirt over his head. It fell to his mid-thigh and tickled him until he pulled the loose trousers up to cover his nakedness, tying them shut with the drawstring.

Placing his clothes back into the wardrobe -- filled with a hanging row of thick furred cloaks and robes -- Barry soon burrowed his way into bed, which was easily big enough for eight people to sleep in. It reminded him of the bed of an inn with its unfamiliarity, but he found the softness of the mattress to be quite unlike the scratchy straw that usually made up the bedding.

Pulling the layered sheets up to his chin and looking out, through the glass of his weyr-window Barry could see shadows moving, but the fire crackling happily away in the fireplace made warm figures dance across the stone ceiling in whirling, hypnotic patterns.

He wasn’t sure when he drifted off to sleep, but the figures haunting him must have surely been dreams.

Serpentine and glowing from within, they seemed to whorl in water that wasn’t there. Bright eyes that swirled with stars hummed something he couldn’t begin to understand in wet, lilting tones that resonated through his skull.

_I don’t understand_, he wanted to yell, but his mouth, his lungs were full of water. Bright and green and luminous, he felt it in his bones, soaking through to his marrow and making up everything he was, and would be, and possibly could be.

Eyes with stars in them focused on him, pinning him down like a butterfly on cork. They pierced his wings, trapped his limbs under their gaze. Fire was in his throat, but it was drowned out.

_You will_, the writhing serpent whispered to him in dulcet tongueless tones, full of promise and familiarity. He heard a woman’s voice that made his heart ache, and the voice of a man he didn’t want to love. Both were warm, but compressed below the weight of an ocean, and a tree on the hill.

The rush of blood was loud in his ears, and Barry became terribly aware that he was water given flesh, flesh given mind, mind given something _more_. The green serpent was looking at him with eyes full of the stars he had seen on his flight to Oa, looking like he could dip his fingers in and bathe in their light.

The stars were so bright, and endless with constellations both familiar and strange, and the serpent’s blood was flowing full of them.

_Mine too,_ he thought deliriously, _I will be of the serpent’s starry blood._

The serpent seemed to approve, and the pounding of Barry’s heart became indistinguishable with the knocking of knuckles on wood.

Someone was knocking on his door.

Cracking his eyes open, Barry found himself initially unwilling to move from the comfortable burrow he had worked himself into. Undoubtedly from an outside view he would appear to be a vague lump of linen sunken into the soft mattress.

He had to fight to work his eyes open against the soft morning light streaming through his windows, turning the ceiling above his head a gentle gold. Rousing himself with a groan, he saw it had a similar effect on the tapestries that insulated the walls, turning their stitching into rippling colours that reminded him of something serpentine.

Barry slid out from beneath the heavy covers and found himself thanking whoever decided to cover the stonework floor with thick rugs. The fibres were warm against his toes, and he found himself scrunching them into the material while taking stock of the room in the pale light of day.

“Coming! Just a moment!” he called out to whoever might be knocking at his door and hopping out of bed to pull open the wardrobe and quickly change, wrapping the bandages around himself firmly -- but not tight enough to be truly uncomfortable -- and pulling his familiar worn tunic over his head and trousers over his legs. Distantly, Barry wished he had worn his good doublet before he had been whisked away.

Brushing imaginary dust from his chest and slipping on his soft leather boots, he went over to the great window that dominated the far wall and stepped into the light streaming through the glass. His previous assessment of the caldera had been close to accurate; the lip of the eastern rim of the caldera was lower than the west, letting the light shine directly into the crater and bathe the bottom for most of the day.

The caves he had seen running along the walls were much busier now, with people passing across the little windows cut into the rock, each dressed in greens and reds and blues, rich colours that stood bold against the grey stone.

If Barry pressed himself against the glass he could see to the sides of his room, where more glass windows like his own faced out. He couldn’t see inside, but he imagined them to be furnished like his own.

Were those the chambers of other riders? Was Hal, the sunkissed prince, nearby?

The thought came to him unbidden, and Barry banished it without a second consideration.

He realised he had been staring off into space when there was a polite knock at the door.

“Everything alright in there?” a voice he recognised as Alan’s called, muffled by the thick oak.

“Sorry!” Barry called back, hurrying over to unlatch the locks he had done. The door was surprisingly easy to pull open after that, as if the hinges had been freshly oiled, but he could feel the weight in its movement.

Alan waited for him outside, dressed in a more formal red jerkin over a white blouse, with dark green trousers. The serpent was still around his throat, and in the light of day Barry could see the wings engraved, and that it was made of some deep green gemstone, cut into a necklace that hugged his throat. It seemed to gleam with light from within.

“Sorry, I got… Distracted,” he tried to explain, rubbing the back of his head as Alan passed his eyes over him.

“First nights at Oa can be difficult, that is to be expected,” Alan replied, as if it was normal to dream of drowning.

Barry tried to ignore the lingering phantom sensation of water in his lungs and nodded.

“You mentioned last night, that this was going to be a… Big day?” He remembered something about a bath, and being ‘presented’, whatever that meant.

Alan made an amused sound in the back of his throat, and it sounded not unlike the clucking of some sort of bird. It made Barry smile and a giggle rise to his throat.

“We are to Present you,” the older man explained with the infinite patience of someone who had done through this many times before. “If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to get decent.”

That made Barry terribly aware that he was still in the simple clothing he had been taken in, and he tried and failed not to feel self-conscious about it. He had to hurry in order to catch up with Alan as he turned and strode away, heading down the wide hallway with quick steps.

“A-- Bath, then?” He couldn’t help the anxiety that appeared in his tone unbidden. His hometown was lucky, to have pipes from the river running through the town with a complicated system to allow him to bathe in the cool water in the privacy of his own home. He hadn’t needed to bother with public baths since he had been a child, before…

“Mhm,” Alan replied, leading him past several other doors similar to his own, which must have belonged to quarters of the other riders. “Oa was once a mighty volcano, from which all life erupted. It has since cooled, but deep below the earth fire still burns and heats our water. A gift from our kind Lord, you see.”

That made Barry frown, even as he followed Alan down a set of wide spiralling steps, different from those he had climbed the night before. The middle was slightly furrowed from thousands of pedestrians, and he had to be careful not to slip.

“Your lord heats your water?”

Alan cast him an aside glance. “Aye. You will meet Him soon enough, but first we must clean you.” He paused, as if sensing the bile that was gradually rising in Barry’s throat at the idea of a public bath house. “Nobody will look at you if you do not want them to,” he reassured him.

“It’s not that, it’s just…”

“The weyr has traditionally been a place of refuge for people who find themselves labelled as ‘abnormal’. Be it women who feel the call to swords, or men who do not want wives and children. Indeed, our Lord does not seem to have a preference one way or another for his chosen riders, and his dragons reflect that.”

“The dragons are male and female?”

He was answered with a shrug.

“The dragons are whatever they prefer. We mostly call them ‘he’ and ‘him’ just out of hand, but… You will come to understand. Just this way, through here.” Alan had stopped on a platform and was gesturing to a branched corridor. Barry could smell humidity, and the stone floor had been scuffed bare by the passage of many feet before him.

Down the corridor Barry found himself in front of a rather modest panelled door, which Alan swung open to reveal a vast natural cavern lit with flickering torches and filled with rolling clouds of steam. It seemed to lift from the bubbling pools set into the floor in sheets, and the bracing warmth emanating filled Barry’s lungs on each breath.

“Make yourself comfortable, I will be back soon.”

Alan left him with no more explanation, so Barry took it upon himself to investigate.

The bath house -- bath-cave didn’t really sound right -- was large enough that three men could stand on each other’s shoulders and only just touch the ceiling, which dripped with condensation. The baths were split up into various sections, and Barry found himself inclined towards one at the back of the room.

It seemed strange that there was nobody else here, but he supposed most people would have bathed earlier, or would later in the day after work, right? Barry chewed his lip as he undressed and slipped himself into the water tentatively.

He’d had hot baths before, of course, but they didn’t compare to the almost-scalding temperature that embraced him with liquid arms, filling him with a warmth that burrowed into muscles that he hadn’t even been aware were sore.

Barry sighed and slid down on the submerged step that acted as a seat until the water was tickling at his chin.

He tried not to remember the fleeting dream, and instead focused on wiggling his toes to try and work out some of the soreness that had made itself home in his thighs.

The hot water reminded him of Darkstar’s phantom fire that had filled him, and that reminded him of the intensity of Warrior’s approval, and Hal’s strong arm around his waist.

Barry dunked his head beneath the water and scrubbed it into his hair, relishing in how it felt against his scalp.

When he came up for breath Alan was just returning, with a pale bundle of clothing in his arms.

“Are you clean?” he asked, as Barry sunk deeper within the water and crossed his arms self-consciously.

“As clean as I’m going to get, I think,” he replied with a thin smile, not quite wanting to get out. The towel Alan was unfolding looked very fluffy, though…

“I’ve brought you appropriate clothes for your Presentation,” the older man continued, seemingly unaware of the subtle discomfort Barry felt, “But they are comfortable and clean.” He paused, and his eyes lingered on the discarded clothes.

“If you like, I can wait for you--”

“--It’s okay if you’re okay,” Barry interrupted, finding confidence he didn’t know he had. Anxiety crept up his arms and gave him goosebumps, but he didn’t want to be a slave to those fears.

He didn’t give himself a second thought before rising from the water and carefully stepping out of the pool. He tried not to slip, and tried even harder not to meet Alan’s eyes as he took the towel from him and started to dry off.

“There is no shame in wanting privacy, Barry,” the rider said softly, turning aside as Barry rubbed himself dry with the downy towel with efficient motions.

“We have somewhere to be, don’t we? I can’t keep… Waiting around while you cart me everywhere,” he said with more bravado than he felt. Alan cast him a glance, and passed over the pair of white linen trousers he held.

“You’re eager to meet our Lord, then?”

Barry found them to actually be rather formal breeches, which buttoned snugly at his waist and calves. He nodded, and crouched down to pick up his discarded bandages.

“Aye. He obviously dragged me here for one reason or another--”

“To give you a dragon.”

“--_One reason or another_,” Barry insisted, tying the bandage firmly and taking the offered tunic to tuck it into the bottoms, “So I might as well go to see him.” Alan also passed him an eggshell jerkin that left the bloused arms of his tunic free but gave him a more formal appearance.

There were no shoes provided, so Barry pulled his boots back on and turned to see Alan giving him an approving look. He hoped Oa’s lord would approve similarly.

“So, which way to the lord?” Barry paused, as a question he had considered earlier occurred to him. “Wouldn’t he be a king? Since Hal is a prince? Even though it’s not a hereditary position.”

“Mm. Not precisely.”

Alan was already leading him out of the baths, back towards the main corridor. Stepping out into the stone hallway was a breath of fresh air after the dense humidity of the heated pools and Barry was growing to appreciate the coolness of the air.

“He is not a king because He does not rule as one. That is Hal’s job, why he was chosen. He will explain it for you, but the distinction is important.”

As Alan spoke they descended, down and down and further into the very belly of the mountain. The air grew cooler, and Barry could almost feel the immense weight pressing down on him from all sides. It was like being walked through the sprawling passages of an ant hill, and he wondered who kept the torches lit in these deep tunnels and who kept the floor clear of refuse and the vermin that came with all fortresses of considerable size.

He wondered if Alan could feel the weight of ages past.

The hallway widened as they went deeper into the bowels of the weyr, and Barry had to bend backwards to see the high ceiling above, which was tented and supported by immense curving beams easily thicker than a man. Between them were what used to be bright murals depicting dragons and men and beasts he had no name for, all intertwined and almost indistinguishable in the flickering light.

_The ceiling of a cathedral_, Barry realised, gaping openly at the scale and realising how far below the surface they must be to fit the structure within the earth.

At the end was a door which towered above anything he had seen previously, thrice as tall as a man and arched in long curved lines to form a point that connected to the supporting beams above, like the ribcage of some enormous stone beast.

At the end of the hallway stood an armoured man, hands resting on a greatsword balanced on its tip. His helm was in the shape of a rearing dragon with wings extended, and a rich green cloak lined with white hung from his broad shoulders.

Hal looked at him with warm eyes, and Barry felt heat bloom across his cheeks.

“My prince,” Alan was saying, bowing shallowly. Barry followed him, but felt Hal’s gaze on him the entire time.

“It’s time, then?” Hal asked, his hands unmoving from where they rested on the pommel of his greatsword. The naked steel gleamed like liquid in the torchlight. There was a moment when he seemed to be sizing Barry up with a contemplative expression. “You flew well earlier. I hope you’ll fly with me once more.”

Barry swallowed thickly and made himself meet the prince’s eyes.

“If your lord would have me, I look forward to it.”

Hal’s smile was the only answer the butterflies in his belly needed.

“When you go through to meet Him,” Hal started, glancing back to the doors he guarded, “Do not pretend to be fearless. Be who you are, that’s what He is interested in. He would not have summoned you if He did not know you.”

Barry didn’t know what that meant. Was it supposed to be reassuring? ‘Do not pretend to be fearless’.

“Are you ready?” Alan asked, and Barry pushed his contemplation aside to nod and steel himself. The older man gave him a long look, and Hal stepped aside to let him push open one of the great doors, within which only darkness lay.

It seemed to want to creep out, radiating like some inverse lamplight.

Creeping, crawling, _old._

Even if he had wanted to, Barry didn’t think he could pretend to not be afraid.

He approached the open door with equal amounts trepidation and curiousity, and could feel the cool air rushing through to greet him.

When he stepped through there was the smell of salt, and the stone beneath his feet abruptly transitioned to a strange green stone, the same colour as old green glass. When the door closed behind him with a whisper, Barry was left in the darkness.

It was all-consuming, terrifying, and it snatched his breath away before he had a chance to register. Beneath his feet the stone glowed from within, the soft green light flowing out like liquid to reveal the path he was supposed to take: Something that looked like a battlement projecting deep into the darkness beyond, lined with stone pillars that stood like sentinels.

On either side, Barry realised with a breath of salt, was water deep and black and endless. It stretched out on either side and whether it connected with what must have been the walls he could not say because beyond the green path there was nothing but the abyss.

_‘Do not pretend to be fearless’. _

Barry crouched down by the side of the path, and reached down to dip his hand into the abyssal waters. He was surprised when it was warm, warmer than the pool he had bathed in earlier, and yet it was so dark and undisturbed, he could barely see his fingers beneath the surface…

He found that there was nothing to be fearless about, as he stood back to his feet and dried his hand.

At the end of the battlement there stood an altar, rising seamlessly out of the glass-stone and balancing a basin at its peak.

Before him and beyond the edges of the green glass was nothing but the abyss so dark he swore he could see things forming and writhing within, shapeless and impossible to define with his weak human eyes.

_Barry Allen_, something whispered, a wet caress against the inside of his ears, _I’ve been waiting for you._

“You’re the lord of Oa,” he said, breathlessly and wide-eyed, throat dry.

Something in the darkness shifted, became detached from the immaterial background.

_I am the Lord of all those with the will to live_, it replied, _The defiance of entropy is what I am Lord of. Love and loss and whatever else that makes you fight for life._

It was long and serpentine, gleaming with colours Barry had no name for. It seemed to be looking at him, cutting him right through to the bone with a hot gaze.

_You’re not afraid,_ it burbled, and it felt like an accusation.

“You wouldn’t bring me all the way here just to hurt me,” Barry said with a strange sort of calm. “The darkness is… Frightening, but I know it’s just water.” He held up the hand he had dipped, and couldn’t help but curl his fingers at the thought.

The lord writhed, and plated scales the length of a man’s height shifted to green, and then blue and then purple and back to green, the same green glass of the stone he stood on. Eyes of infinite depth formed and Barry could see the stars in them.

“You’re what visited me last night,” he realised with certainty. He didn’t want to drown again.

_ I am what visits every man when courage is needed. I am Ion, and I was the First. _

That didn’t satisfy him.

“What _are_ you?”

The lord -- Ion -- took on a shape that was the uncanny combination of a serpent and a fish suspended in liquid. It’s big starry eyes gazed down on him, and Barry wanted to reach out and dip his fingers in.

_ I was the First, born in this sunless sea. The first to fight against the darkness of mine birth and struggle towards the light. The first to fight against the existential fear the mute, brainless creatures before me were beholden to. The first to speak, to sing out and create and look upon my children as more than just flesh. _

The weight of the words being forced into his skull made Barry queasy, but he didn’t look away from Ion’s form.

“The dragons?”

_ All of you. From wriggling pathetic creatures to all that recognise their own existence. Dragon or man, it makes no difference. _

“Then why me, if all humans are your children?”

_ Why not you, child? Are you not clever? Did you not feel no fear after realising you were in no danger? Is your heart not filled with love, even for those that do not deserve it? _

Barry opened his mouth to argue, but the hurt in his heart stopped him.

_ You have the will to keep going. Elsewise you would not have come to my chambers. Elsewise you would not have taken Hal’s hand and flown with him. Elsewise you would have given up, under the tree on the hill. _

“How did you--”

_The grief will never leave you, but like life you will thrive regardless. Where there are bones there will be new grasses and the earth will drink the blood and give you fruits. Your hope will plant you a forest. _

“What do you want,” Barry interrupted, not even phrasing it as a question. A hot knife was planted in his heart, and he wondered if drinking from the sunless water would quench the fire.

_ My wants are irrelevant. I do not want. I simply am. The more relevant question is what you want. _

“I want my mother back,” he spat back, petulantly looking up at the swirling stars as if he could possibly challenge them.

_Your mother never left. Death is not nonexistence. If you want her, then she is waiting for you. Beneath the tree. But that is not what you want, is it? That is not why you came here, not why I brought you here._

The serpent was looking at him in a way that might be read as sympathetic, if he could translate the green translucent shapes into a form he could begin to understand.

“...No,” Barry admitted, forcing it out like he was forcing out the knife in his chest. He had been wounded by it for too long. “I’m not here for that, I don’t think.”

_ And. _

Ion spiralled closer, filling everything that could and would be, eternal and endless and radiating the heat that Barry craved.

“I want to _live_. I want-- What you can give me. Whatever that is.”

The lord made a sound that radiated into his skull inescapably and filled the hollows of his bones. It was green, green, _green_ and Barry felt it lance through him from a point behind his eyes and down the length of his spine and out through his toes, radiating like branching lightning.

_Phaeton_, something whispered, a breeze that didn’t exist outside Barry’s head.

He had closed his eyes, but he didn’t know when. The dancing lights behind his eyelids seemed to be no different than the shifting form Ion had presented to him, but when he opened them the serpentine lord was gone, as if he had faded back into the immutable darkness from which he came.

No, that was wrong; Ion was still there. Barry could feel it in the air, taste it on his tongue.

There was an egg sitting on the altar.

It was perhaps the size of an inflated pig’s bladder, but with a dark green shell that was rough and textured to the touch.

He grazed his fingers of the top curve and--

_Barry! _something shouted at him, a high and tinny voice, muffled from behind something.

Or within something.

“You’re… In there? Ion?” Barry felt more than a bit silly talking to the darkness, but when he rested his palm on the surface of the egg he felt warmth radiating from it.

As suddenly as the voice called out to him, something from within the eggshell rocked and seemed to beat against the shell.

Laughing at the little tenacious creature, he bent forward and pressed his ear against the shell.

“You in there?” he called softly, and tiny squeak replied, sounding something between a bird and puppy.

There was a resounding _thud_, and Barry heard the eggshell give with a crackle.

Whatever was inside -- he knew what it was, but he didn’t quite believe it just yet -- seemed to be having trouble, so he pressed his thumbs against where it had struggled and gave a little push--

The eggshell gave way with a wet _crack_ beneath his nails, and within was something wet, wet and red and squirming in liquid.

Barry could only watch as a slick, tiny snout poked up through the hole he had made and flare its nostrils, taking a deep breath. Within the egg there was more squirming, and the ragged hole was freely flowing with the bloody liquid.

_Thank you_, the voice chittered again, and the creature shifted within the shell, receding from the hole that had been made.

All at once there was a crack as the thick green shell split apart, sending a surprisingly tiny form sprawling across the altar with a splatter of amniotic fluid and mucous and torn shell pieces.

For something that would grow up to be so mighty, the dragon was no larger and no more intimidating than a drowned cat, and Barry instantly felt sorry for the poor thing.

“Hey there,” he cooed to the struggling… What would it be called? A chick? The excitable little chirrups it was burbling sounded rather birdlike. The chick was mostly wings and tail, he discovered as he reached and brushed one of the flailing wings aside.

It had four little legs it was trying to stand on, but Barry took pity on the poor thing so he scooped it up into his arms and tried not to laugh when it smeared a mix of strange fluids across his nice clothing.

“Hey there,” he called again, drawing the chick’s attention to him. It was a brilliant red, and already it was rippled with a gold that seemed to glow like the green glass he stood on. It flowed from branching lines across the dragon’s body and pooled in the membranes of its wings, which were still stained with the membranous fluid that it had been birthed from.

“Hey now, lemme just…” He ran his fingers down the sinuous form as the chick writhed and squirmed in his grip, but the slippery liquid ran off when he brushed across the overlapping scales that formed a little ridge on the dragon’s back.

Someday, he realised with a start, that ridge would be large enough to ride on.

_ Someday! But not today. _

The chick had stilled against his chest, its long tail curling around his arm for leverage. Barry huffed a laugh as the little dragon looked up at him with big blue eyes, whose infinite depth sparkled with clouds of stars.

“Ion, you don’t need to remind m--”

_Phaeton! I am Phaeton!_ the voice in his head insisted as the chick wiggled furiously and squawked its displeasure.

So Alan was right about the dragons talking.

Barry petted the tiny snout with the tip of his forefinger, and a pink tongue flickered out to taste him. It was rough to the touch, and Barry found himself reassessing his bird comparison; the dragon was more catlike than anything.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Phaeton,” he said softly, and the chick rewarded him with a big blink of two sets of eyelids in return: an unusual clear pair, and then the usual. The tiny muscles in Phaeton’s muzzle were twitching, and Barry suddenly felt self-conscious as the dragon looked him over.

_It’s okay_, it reassured him, _I’m like you._

That puzzled him.

“What do you mean?”

The dragon blinked again, and Barry felt the impression Phaeton was annoyed at having to spell it out.

_I’m a boy, like you, so you don’t need to worry! _

Alan had mentioned that the dragons chose their own gender… It did make him feel better, though.

“Let’s… Introduce you to the others, yeah?” Barry suggested weakly, trying to move away from the other topic.

Phaeton squirmed in his arms, and its -- _his_, Barry reminded himself -- claws gripped the front of his jerkin as the chick moved up to curl around his shoulders, nuzzling into his cheek with a distinct purr.

_I can feel my brothers and sisters_, the dragon murmured, and he was warm against Barry’s skin, gently radiating heat.

“You’ll have to tell me about them,” Barry replied, turning and petting Phaeton with two fingers. Phaeton preened and Barry got the impression he was pleased in some way.

Barry briefly glanced back, though, and gave the glimmering green altar a polite nod. It only felt right to thank the lord that had brought him all the way here to give him… This.

The glass stone beneath his feet felt warm through his boots, and he took that as approval.

Barry felt more confident when he pushed open the enormous doors that kept this little sunless sea from the rest of the world, but blinked and squinted against the firelight that seemed so harsh compared to the infinite darkness of the shrine.

Before he had a chance to blink the stars out of his eyes, Barry was pulled into a crushing hug that drove the air from his lungs, and Phaeton squealed, surprise travelling from the dragon’s claws into Barry so clearly it was like having a direct connection into Phaeton’s mind.

Maybe that’s what it was, the bond between man and dragon: A direct connection. That would be how Phaeton knew he was worried about being who he was, how Ion knew about Nora--

“--the right choice!” Someone was saying. _Hal_, Hal was saying. Barry could tell from the winged helm and, he admitted to himself on a level he was uncomfortable with, the way his strong arms wrapped around him so familiarly.

“Hold up there,” Barry had to laugh, pushing his hands against Hal’s breastplate to give himself some space. Hal let him, but his hands stayed at Barry’s waist.

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” Hal said, a certain note of _something_ in his voice. “And what’s your name, little one?” he addressed the dragon, petting his nose with a gloved finger.

“Phaeton,” Barry answered, the same moment the name echoed in his head. “His name is Phaeton.” Hal’s eyes flickered from the dragon back to Barry, and in the dancing torchlight the brown seemed to be speckled with gold.

“He’s a pretty one,” Hal replied, not breaking eye contact with him. “I’m… Happy you decided to accept him.” His helm didn’t have a visor, so Barry was free to see the soft blush that darkened his cheeks.

Phaeton was radiating warmth, and with a scuffle of little claws against metal the dragon wiggled his way up Hal’s arm to investigate him. Hal got a flailing wing to the face, but he laughed regardless.

_This one likes you_, Phaeton murmured, finally finding balance on Hal’s pauldron and refolding his wings.

_I would hope so_, Barry tried to think meaningfully in Phaeton’s direction, not wanting Hal -- and Alan -- to hear the indignation he felt, _He is the prince, and my comrade._

Phaeton was being petted by Hal, and making soft chirping noises. Starry blue eyes focused on Barry, and he felt a wave of curiousity.

_ You don’t know? He likes you more than that. _

Barry chose to ignore that comment, and the subsequent impression of annoyance.

“We should get you cleaned up,” Alan was saying, and Hal was giving his clothing a once-over.

In the light the red of amniotic fluid had sunken into his jerkin and stained it a bright uncanny red that seemed to smear across his chest and shoulders in broad swipes. Phaeton seemed oddly sheepish when Barry raised his eyebrows at him.

Hal didn’t seem to agree.

“I like it, you know. Makes him look like he just came out of a battle.”

Barry ran a hand over where the pink was more red than anything, and shook his head.

“Not quite. It was more of a… Discussion, between Ion and I. Phaeton was just a clumsy baby,” he joked lightly, and the little dragon squawked indignantly and leapt from Hal’s shoulder back to his own.

_I’m a baby, but I’m not clumsy! You try and get used to six leg bits!_ he projected with a huff, spreading his wings in display. In the firelight Barry could see all the tiny little veins running through the golden membranes, and how delicate the bones connecting it all together were.

Hal rolled his eyes and stepped back -- Barry found himself vaguely missing his immediate presence -- and rested a hand on the greatsword that hung at his hip. The pommel was shaped like a dragon’s head, and the hilt was wrapped in leather patterned to look like scales.

“He can get cleaned up later, the boys will want to meet Phaeton. And you, properly.” Hal couldn’t seem to look away from Barry, and the scrutiny made him flush.

“Properly?”

“Now that you’re one of us.”

Barry looked to Alan for clarification -- or help, he wasn’t sure -- but the older rider seemed to agree, nodding to himself.

He remembered Guy’s approving gaze, and John’s strong hands, and he felt giddy. Phaeton was giving him a quizzical look.

“Perhaps… After breakfast? I didn’t get a chance to eat before…” As he spoke, Barry petted the little dragon on his shoulder, and felt a wave of affection flow through him. “And I bet you’re hungry too, huh?”

Phaeton rubbed his little face against Barry’s cheek, and he could feel the long serpentine tail wrapping lazily around his throat.

Red instead of green, flesh instead of jade; Barry suddenly understood why Alan was wearing the serpent.

“You didn’t even let him eat?” Hal had turned to Alan, but his tone was more playful than the words implied.

Alan arched a brow and looked unimpressed. “I assumed you would take care of him afterwards. He’s your knight now, after all.”

_Knight._ Of course, he was to be a rider.

Hal’s mouth curled in what might have been annoyance, and Barry could see the way his eyes burned like embers.

“Right then. Ser Barry,” the prince said, turning back to him and straightening himself to his full height, “Might I ask if you would like to break your fast with me?”

That made him laugh, and his laughter made Hal smile. He liked that.

“‘Break your fast’? That’s very formal,” Barry teased.

“I’m the prince, it’s my job to be formal.” Hal cast a glance to Alan, who looked unimpressed. “...Most of the time. So, will you join me? I’ll take you to the top of the weyr, so you can see the city and smell the salt in the air. It’s yours now, since you accepted Ion’s gift.”

“The city or the salt air?” Barry wasn’t sure why he was so… Playful, but he liked the warmth in Hal’s eyes, the way his cheeks crinkled when he smiled.

“Both, if you’d have it.”

Alan drew their attention with a sigh.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then,” he said politely, “Don’t scare him too badly, Hal.”

Hal stuck out his tongue as Alan left, his boots quiet against the stone floor.

“So, to the top?” he asked Barry, obviously excited.

“You mean… The battlements?”

“If you’d like. They’re overlooking the city, but there are also keeps lining the walls. My quarters are part of them.” Hal began to lead Barry as he spoke, gesturing as if he could paint an image for him in the air. The great expanse of the empty stone cathedral felt more alive than when he had first entered it, with the warmth around his throat and in his belly.

“You intend on taking me to your quarters? Now I know why Alan was worried about you scaring me.” The jest came easily to him.

Hal cast him an aside glance and a toothy smile.

“Aye, haven’t you been told the story of the mighty dragon stealing the maiden away to his tower?”

Barry didn’t look at him for fear his flush would be visible, but it only felt right to continue the banter.

“A maiden? You make a bold assumption of me, ser.”

He tried not not startle when Hal slid his arm through the crook of Barry’s elbow, the metal of his armour cool against his clothing.

“If I am wrong, would you correct me?”

“I think not, good ser,” Barry pretended to chide, letting Hal lead him up another set of spiralling steps. “A prince should know his manners.”

“And a dragon should know his prey.”

They had reached a more occupied thoroughfare that bustled with activity; washerwomen and stewards and clerics and even young children all passed by, the elders giving Hal polite nods and curtseys and the little ones giving him awkward waves and fumbling bows, along with high-pitched ‘_milord’_s.

“Prey? And here I thought I was a knight. Not to mention, there isn’t much eating on Phaeton just yet.”

The dragon on his shoulder had been listening and hovering in the background of Barry’s mind contentedly, and nobody seemed to give him a second glance. At the mention of his name, he perked up indignantly.

_ He’s not allowed to eat me! Tell him that, that you won’t let him. _

When he relayed the information, Hal burst into laughter that seemed to fill the stone corridor with its sound. They walked arm-in-am and passed many and more rooms and doors, some filled with laughter and the sound of music, others with the smell of horses and dogs or fresh bread.

Alan had not been exaggerating when he described the weyr as a city, Barry swore that since he had hatched Phaeton, he had seen more people than the total population of Stonebridge. Jay would probably call him a city-boy now, and give him a slap on the back with a deep belly-laugh.

Jay would probably like Hal, he realised while watching Hal flashing his teeth in a dazzling smile at a passing cook with a heavily laden pot of something that smelled like rich stew.

Hunger surged through him from a source he quickly identified as the little dragon clinging to his shoulder, and he tried to sooth him by running his hand down Phaeton’s delicately ridged spine, which writhed beneath his fingertips.

“We’re almost there,” Hal said, but he hadn’t needed to because the next flight of steps brought dazzling sunlight to Barry’s eyes, making him squint and try to shade his eyes.

Impossibly blue skies greeted him once his eyes had adjusted, and the salted wind of coastal air tasted sweet on his tongue. It was unlike the summer breezes and stronger, cooler but not as cutting as winter gusts.

“Over here,” Hal lead him towards the battlements, stone warmed by the sun. The prince stepped back and let him reach the parapet, enormous stone blocks that formed a rough fence along the edge.

From there, leaning his elbows against the tops and stretching out as far as he could without falling over, Barry could see the city sprawling beneath the natural walls of Oa, lined with its own great walls that seemed minuscule in comparison to the weyr.

A city it truly was, as well, with paved streets large enough for two wagons to ride abreast and with buildings each three storeys tall all packed in rows to maximise space. Brick and wood intermingled, and he could see the market flourishing with a hundred and a half stores and thrice as many people bustling through the narrow streets.

Closest to Oa’s walls was a towering cathedral that shined in the midday sun, its white stone -- marble? -- luminescent and shadowing the city. A belltower that stood twice as tall as the one back home was topped with life-size stone dragons, and an enormous serpent was wrapped around the tower itself.

“The serpent is Ion,” Barry said in a jolt of realisation. The eyes of the stone snake were inset with starry jewels that glittered in the sunlight, even from a distance.

“Aye, it’s supposed to be,” the prince responded from beside him, jolting him out of the phantom sensation of breathing water, “Things get lost in translation. People think a serpent is scarier than a big fish,” Hal continued with a laugh. While Barry had been looking out over the city he had removed his breastplate and gauntlets, which revealed an arming doublet of rich quilted green linen, embroidered with intricate gold dragons and white entangling patterns.

It fell to the prince’s thigh, but Barry hoped he had managed to not reveal he had been looking.

“Are you still hungry?” Hal asked, eyes sparkling in the sunlight. They were the same colour as Spectre; a deep bronze bespeckled with gold.

Barry didn’t look away.

“Phaeton certainly is, he’s nearly chewing me.”

A sensation of indignant objection bubbled in the back of his mind, but Phaeton didn’t comment otherwise, instead settling into his perch on Barry’s shoulder.

Hal nodded, and linked his arm back with Barry’s, leading him away from the parapet.

“When I said that we’d break our fast on the battlement, I was only lying a little bit,” he said, sheepishly and bringing him down a more shallow set of stairs, “But I did want you to see Weyrtown.”

“‘Weyrtown’? Very descriptive.”

Barry felt Hal shrug. “I didn’t name it. It started as a village an age ago, just a few farmers that found protection beneath the weyrlords of old. They were the ones that started worshipping Ion, you know. You can blame all the big snake depictions on them. Over time people travelled for protection, or trade, or anything else, and it became the city you see down there. Biggest one in all of our lands, you know. They’re your people now, too.”

He listened attentively, but flushed at the last sentence.

“You sound like you’re making me a ruler.”

Hal snorted, “Despite what Alan might have told you, we don’t do much ruling. We serve Ion and the people below, no more and no less. They have their own elected lord, and that suits them. But you’re bound to them, and they’re bound to you.”

“Like us and the dragons,” Barry replied, and was going to follow with the question _‘Does that make us the man or the monster?’_ when the stairway gave way to a courtyard that seemed to radiate with rush life.

The hard solid stone of Oa gave way to colourful individual tiles in geometric shapes, which then gave way to lush grass and towering date trees. The sunshine here was softer than up at the battlements, and the air smelled of fresh water, somehow, even though the sea was in the opposite direction…

“Through here,” Hal lead him down the pathway, and through engraved stone arches until the rest of the courtyard was revealed: Surprisingly large for how it must have been tucked against the weyr’s side in order to get clear sunshine, it was dominated by a cross shaped pool that had streaming fountains sprouting from the middle and sides. The water was deep and dark, and reminded him of the baths that bubbled deep below, but when the breeze brushed his skin it was cool.

Barry pulled away from Hal, magnetised towards the water by a force he couldn’t name. The grass was soft beneath his boots, and he fell to his knees by the tiling. The water was cool to the touch, and even leaning forward and staring at his own reflection -- _stars seemingly dancing within_ \-- he could not see the bottom.

He felt Hal’s presence beside him, and he looked up sheepishly, flushing in embarrassment.

“The hotsprings down in the weyr, you… Pump the water up here?” He was trying to work out the logistics of that, the piping and the cooling and maintaining the pools… Barry watched Hal turn and gaze across the garden, from the date and lemon and pomegranate trees all laden with fruit, to the sprinkling arcs of water that danced across the pool’s surface.

“Aye. On hot summer days, the garden is a welcome reprieve, for man and dragon. Servants are welcome here as well, provided they are not working. You might even see lovers hiding among the flowers, but they aren’t hurting anyone.”

Barry felt Hal’s gaze on him, and heat was spreading across the back of his neck. He was grateful for the cool water, using his wet hand to cool off his throat.

“And what does that make us?”

“Two riders enjoying some lunch, of course.” Hal was leading him towards a sheltered little pavillion of cloth, within which sat an ornate table laden with fruits and cured meat, flanked by two chairs.

The white linen made the dappled sunlight that fell through the date trees outside soft and easy on the eyes, and Barry found himself easily sliding into one of the chairs, delicate and wrought iron but laden with a plush cushion.

As Hal sat, a servant came by with a pitcher and two cups and bustled off soon afterwards, leaving them alone with the sound of rippling water.

“It’s… Beautiful up here,” Barry commented, watching Hal pour them both a cup of rich, dark wine that only added to the fragrant scents within the garden.

Hal took a tiny fork and speared a slice of the cold meat, popping it in his mouth.

“Dragons are not made to be kept in the dark. Oa is safe, and pretty much impenetrable, but both they and their riders need something more than its grey halls. So Ion gave us this.”

“Ion is very generous,” Barry prompted, idly taking a sip from his wine and feeling the warmth spread through his chest.

“Ion can be a bastard sometimes, but He means well.”

He tried not to choke on his wine, holding a hand to his mouth to try and stop his laughter.

“That’s a nice way to speak about your weird fish-god!”

Hal flashed him a toothy grin and a guffaw, “He’s your weird fish-god too now! And anyway, I could go without the weird dreams. Alan told me you had them last night, I trust they weren’t too disturbing?”

Barry’s breath caught in his throat, and he had to distract himself with a small plate of stuffed olives. He didn’t want to think about what else Alan had told him. The wrap around his chest suddenly didn’t feel tight enough, and he tried to dismiss the crawling shivers running down his limbs.

His fingers drummed on the tablecloth, a finely woven piece of fabric.

“No more than I’ve had before.”

Phaeton, sensing his discomfort, rubbed his little head against his cheek, the roughness of his scales tickling him. Barry petted him, and gave the dragon a fond smile.

_Can I go?_ Phaeton asked, his starry eyes blinking their scintillating eyelids. Barry got the impression of cool water running across scales, of sharp teeth sinking into the soft flesh of a peach, of grass beneath his claws…

He had to blink the sensations away, but nodded.

“Off you go then. Don’t get lost, okay?”

Phaeton chittered an agreement and stretched his skinny wings to take a single flap as he leapt from Barry’s shoulder to the grass, plummeting without any of the grace the older dragons showed. He scampered from the pavilion without a second glance, and disappeared into the flower bushes.

When he glanced back, Hal was watching him with an unusual intensity that Barry couldn’t name. He took another drink to try and calm his nerves.

“You must be wining and dining me for one reason or another,” he suggested, and an amused smile flit across Hal’s lips.

“I thought I should welcome my new comrade. Guy and John both approve of you; which is a feat. Alan as well. Don’t let his gruffness dissuade you.”

That made Barry lean forward to rest his elbows on the table.

“You’re close with them. Alan mentioned about your father…”

“I’m close with all of my lieutenants. Guy, John, Alan… They’re all very dear to me.”

“Like brothers?”

Hal paused, and gave him a long look that seemed to evaluate him.

“Closer than mine own blood,” he said, deadly serious, “We share everything Ion has given us; bread, water, salt. Our home, our bodies, our dragons.”

The sound of water was loud in Barry’s ears, but the cup of wine felt steady in his hand. He began to put it together, piece by piece.

“Alan and your father, then…?”

“Alan was my father’s closest lieutenant, but their love was chaste.”

He remembered the softness of Alan’s eyes when he had spoken about Martin burning like the sun. There was heat in his belly unrelated to the wine, and he found himself… _Wanting_, maybe, a deep hunger that gnawed at him.

“So, all of you…?”

Hal seemed surprised he wasn’t reacting differently. Maybe he was expecting disgust, or anger, or distrust. Barry wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

The prince swirled the wine in his cup, and looked out to gaze at the shimmering water. The sun was beginning its descent from the peak of noon, sending hypnotic waves of gold across the pool.

“Aye, all of us. One way or another.” He must have seen Barry’s look of confusion, because he rushed to clarify. “Not all with-- Me, and the others. Some are partners in the way civilians might recognise them, others are between two men or two women or more in either configuration.”

Barry’s belly was aflutter. Surely Alan must have told him.

“And people who are-- Different? From just a man or a woman?”

Hal’s eyes were amber in the shaded sunlight, and they were deeply sympathetic.

“We are as dragons, us riders. We choose for ourselves, what you choose is irrelevant except to you, and you only.”

Barry picked at the cured meats, suddenly finding himself not very hungry.

“So whatever I am, or might be… You’d want me to join… Whatever you have going on with the others.” He spoke haltingly, unsure of himself. Barry wasn’t sure what, exactly, this all meant.

Hal merely shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

“I would_ like_ to get to know you better, sure. You’re a handsome young man, now a knight. Alan tells me you’ve got a good head about you.” His eyes flickered downwards, meaningfully. Barry resisted the urge to cross his arms over his chest. “If you’d have me, I would be interested in pursuing… Something with you.”

“You mean you’d intend to court me,” Barry realised, with a strange smile settling onto his lips. Seeing the flush rise to Hal’s cheeks and the way he looked away confirmed his deduction.

“...Something like that, perhaps,” the prince insisted, and Barry thought the blush suited his sunkissed skin.

“And the others?” he pressed, more curious than anything. He hoped he wasn’t blushing as well, because it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed that John and Guy and even Alan might be considered handsome by any standards.

“If they should be interested, they may make their own arrangements with you. I am their prince and lover, not their master.”

Barry rested his chin on the back of his hand, watching Hal drain his cup. He saw Hal’s throat bob as he swallowed.

“So if we were, perhaps, to have an… Arrangement, you would not be opposed to myself finding interest in another person.” He was trying to work all of this out, dancing around the strange language the riders’ relationship necessitated. He was not equipped with this information, but it tantalised him nonetheless.

“If we had such an arrangement, we would agree on terms we both find amenable.”

Barry was watching Hal watch him, and felt like he was half-drunk on the wine that had only just begun to settle in his belly. It was like dancing without knowing the steps, twirling off-balance but managing not to break an ankle.

“And your terms with the others?”

“Their approval is just as influential as my own on such matters. I would not go behind their backs and betray their trust, neither would they do so to myself.”

Barry leaned forward, curious and feeling himself drawn in irrevocably.

“And if I should want you all to myself?”

Hal flashed his teeth in a grin, and Barry had to curl his toes to prevent himself shivering at the heated look he gave him.

“I didn’t take you for a greedy type, Ser Barry,” he replied with a playful lilt, mirroring Barry and resting his elbows on the table’s edge.

“Not so much greedy. Merely…” He searched for the right words, looking out into the gardens. “..._Wanting_, perhaps.”

“Wanting,” Hal prompted him, “For what, may I ask?”

Cold eyes came to his mind unbidden, and he felt defiance in his chest. Defiance, and a _want_ for something else.

He wasn’t here to think about Eobard, or the tree on the hill. Whatever reasons he might have had always seemed to link back to what needed to be left buried beneath the earth.

He was as a dragon, and dragons did not linger. He felt a vague, swelling approval from deep within the section of his mind that had previously echoed with the sunken voice of the deep Lord below.

_ I am what visits every man when courage is needed. _

Hal was still watching him with that catlike curiosity, and Barry met his gaze.

“I want to fly,” he said with a confidence that sounded more real as he dwelled on it. It settled into his heart like embers, filling and burning him.

“I want you to fly with me,” Barry decided in an instant of clarity, leaning over the table. “You, and Guy and John and Alan, if they want.” He wanted the fire in his veins, the weight of a dragon between his thighs, strong arms around him, those molten eyes--

Hal was kissing him, tender and sweet and every part of the fire he wanted. Hal’s hands were cupping his cheek, letting him lean closer and half-over the table.

He tasted like olives and rich meat, and Barry wanted to lick it from his mouth, he _wanted_ and he tried to say as much between kisses, not daring to break away lest Hal decide to change his mind.

Instead Hal merely laughed against his lips, the sound of warm sun and well-worn leather. The prince pulled away for the barest moment, and Barry tried not to laugh at the awkward, languid way he was stretched across the table.

Hal’s gloved fingers brushed across his temples, pushing his hair back where it must have fallen. It felt more intimate than kissing, somehow, and Barry couldn’t look away, couldn’t do much besides fight for the breath Hal had stolen.

“Let’s fly, then,” Hal said, tender and sweet in such a way it made Barry kiss him again, capturing whatever he was going to say. Hal’s fingers were at his cheek, holding him close.

There didn’t need to be any more words for whatever their arrangement was, between the exploratory touches and chaste kisses and muted laughs when Hal knocked some cutlery off the table with his elbows, because Barry was _flying._


End file.
